Beyond the Borders: Beneath the Skies
by Virodeil
Summary: Set before Book 1. The game “Harry hunting” benefits the victim at last. Harry gains new family and experiences new things beyond the world he knows. Curious? Read on. The first of a series. Rewritten up to Chapter 3. On hiatus.
1. Prologue

Story Warnings: (the usual) child abuse and child neglect 'snapshots' of Harry, general violence (mild), seeming bashing of some people and ideas (meaning not truly so), and mention of religious beliefs and activities (in case people are offended by them)

Pairings: nothing canon in this story

Disclaimers:

I do not own Harry Potter Series, the Inheritance Cycle Series, the Five Famous books, or any other recognisable fandoms that might appear here. All recognisable plots and characters belong to the respective stories, but my original characters and plot are of course my own and I will report anyone who steal them from me.

There will be references of the Royal Family of Great Britain or even interactions with them in this story. I mean no slander against them. I am just expressing my admiration and fondness of them through this piece of work, and all I write here are just assumptions, therefore fictitious.

Story Notes:

I hate disclaimers (they are ridiculous when applied to a site which clearly states "fan fiction" in its name, to me), so I will only mention them once, that is, in this page. I apologise to the residents of Surrey who might read this for the events I create in there without any knowledge of the county itself, and the matters I relate to it also. Those are… unavoidable. I have tried my best to know things about the administrative hierarchy in Great Britain and all, but am still confused about some things.

Hopefully you will enjoy reading this fiction. I have never written a full story in Harry's point of view before this, so I am anxious of what might come out of this. Your reviews would be a great support to me. I apologise in advance to the mistakes I might have along the story, especially about homophonic words; they had a good chance of escaping my ears (yes, I am a screen reader user). To further complicate the situation, I am not a native speaker of English too…

I have many ongoing stories which I must also update, and my easy distraction to battle, so the updating rate for this one might be a little slow. :sheepish: I shall do my best to serve you the best I can come up with, though.

Enjoy!

- Rey

* * *

Prologue

Privet Drive Number 4, Little Whinging, Surrey, England. July 30, 1988, 09:00 AM

An eight-year-old boy crept into the living room and hid behind a couch directly facing the television set. He was extremely annoyed when he realised that the television remote lay on the tea ttable one meter before him. It was too late already to creep out from his hiding place, though, because at that time a woman with long neck and long face entered with a cup of tea, ready for a break after gardening all morning. Grumbling about ungrateful brat and suitable punishments for a freaky thing, she seated herself on the sofa right before the hiding boy, forcing said boy to move as quietly as possible to the side to gain a better view of the television screen.

To the boy's silent glee, the woman changed the channel from cartoon to news. He was not particularly fond of news programmes, yet he felt that somehow today's news would bring about a big shift in his life. He had since long forgone hopes of a better life outside the house or a bit of love from the family that resided in it, but his stubborn mind never stopped hoping for any other thing that could even remotely improve his life; the absence of the many cats owned by a certain lady included.

The boy schooled his breathing in order not to be caught by the woman. He prayed she would stop grumbling soon so that he could watch the afternoon news that had just begun. `_When can she be grateful of everything?` _he snickered glumly to himself while playing with the folded left sleeve of his oversized T-shirt – which made him look even smaller and younger.

The first session of the afternoon news, the domestic news, was filled with an official visit of the royal governer of Surrey to a fair held in the town square of Little Whinging. A frown creased his brow. He did not like such boring information.

Well, apparently the pair of girls in the screen thought so, as they did not quite care about masking their uninterested expressions. It seemed that said lord brought his family with him to attend the ceremony of the fair's opening without having the children's consent beforehand.

_Mmm. I'm glad I'm out of the option for that_,` the boy smirked sympathetically to the girls – who cast a veiled glare to the camera. The pair seemed to be of his age if not a little older, and, judged from their nervous bearings, they had never attended any other official events with their father.

_They seem lovely, unlike the girls at school_, the boy mused when the focus returned to the lord. He ignored the speeches of both said lord and the news reader, yawning silently while thinking of the girls the camera man had managed to spy. He wished they could be his friends, not because of their father but because… well, he had never had any friend. If only…

He completely zoned out afterwards, only returning to awareness when the news had ended. Stifling a stream of curses and refraining from punching the back of the sofa out of irritation, he kept his mind, eyes and ears alert of the next programme on the television.

Unfortunately, now it was a gossip programme…

He had to stick his hands together behind his back and meticulously evened out his breathing; a temper tantrum, albeit small and short, would turn into a disastrous result in his case. A gossip programme would not do for him, although the woman sitting on the sofa before him nearly bounced on it with joy like a girl. `_Great. Half an hour crouching here and getting a cramp only got me so far_.`

Grudgingly, he relaxed, leaning to the cool wall behind him, careful so as not to make any rustling sound. Now that he sat more conveniently, he could not look over the top of the sofa again, yet it was the least of his problems as he did not intend to watch the gossips about famous people – the woman's favourite.

It was, until the flirting tone of the presenter announced, "Now we come to the news and information our secret crew have managed to gather about the unknown daughters of Lord and Lady Kensington, little Ladies Ardila and Ariana." The boy was frozen in place, not only because of the startling piece of information but also because he had just inhaled a sharp breath. Cursing silently, he brought himself down sidewise to the floor. At least, the woman would suspect him sleeping, if not at all visible. The sound coming out of the television set was muffled from his current position, yet he had to be satisfied with it.

Lying on his right arm in a crammed, damp and dusty place was not a pleasant experience. What he heard from the television quenched the feeling, however. He had things to muse about now, in case his aunt would lock him back in his cupboard for skipping the gardening chore today. His senses were pulled away from the uncomfortable position he was in.

Then, when the woman had left to the kitchen to make tea, he darted out of his hiding place and crossed the room in long, silent strides. In a short moment, he had already escaped the house completely. If he would end up caged in his cupboard tonight, then it was better for him to use what freedom he had in the best way he could before that time.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

June 5, 1991, 06:00 AM onwards

The house on Privet Drive Number 4 was just as quiet as its neighbours. It was early morning in the first day of summer break for many schools, and the children usually took the chance to get as much sleep as they wanted, therefore not harassing their elders – who were mostly still asleep too anyway – and triggering some racket. But this house was a little different when it came to the 'diligentness' of its occupants. It was to do with a scrawny boy bending over a bed of flowers on the front garden of the house, trimming all the flower bushes and plants.

It was hard to judge the age of the boy by look only, because he was as tall as an eight-year-old or younger. He seemed too skinny for any age, though, and the too-big hand-me-down clothes and trainers he wore only made his appearance worse. The only good part of his thin, sunken face was his almond-shaped vivid-green eyes peering from behind his taped round glasses, which would look even more beautiful if they were lit from inside in the rare moments of happiness. He was proud of his eyes, and, to a lesser degree, his messy black hair which stuck every which way. His hair annoyed his relatives to no end, and he loved to see them ruffled by it (which showed that they were not all powerful over him). Besides, no one could tame his hair, and it was his only vulnerable possession which his aunt and uncle could not take from him.

The boy's name was Harry James Potter, resident orphaned criminal and the unwanted son of a pair of drunks, or so people in the neighbourhood were led to believe, who had been bidden by her aunt the night before to do the chores early. Aunt Petunia did not want the other ladies along the street to see him working, and Harry himself preferred the warm and soft early morning sun than the scorching and blinding one at noon if he was to work in the open like this. Lack of sleeping hours did not bother him, as he was used to that already, having lived with the Dursleys, the owners of the house, since he had been a baby. He considered himself lucky if he could sleep past midnight and wake up at six in the morning in the days he was not locked in the cupboard under the stairs; he simply had too many chores to sleep early and wake up late, and the Dursleys never allowed him that luxury for whatever reason anyway.

He snuck several apples, a handful of soft cheese, and some small strips of smoked beef from the pantry upon returning into the house. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley – their son – were still deep in their dreamlands, so he would not be caught stealing. It was a fairly small chance that he would get breakfast at all, anyhow, if Dudley persisted to eat everything like he was wont to do in the previous summer holidays, saying to his over-indulgent parents that it was his way to celebrate the freedom from school. So now Harry grabbed the treats and quickly exited the pantry, making sure he left no mark and made no noise in the whole raid. He ate his stolen goods in the cupboard under the stairs, his living place for practically nine years of his existence in the house, and came out not fifteen minutes later with hands and lips dirty with food smudges.

Fortunately, no one was awake yet. Darting to the kitchen with the remarkable speed born of fleeing a gang of rowdy fellow students, the boy made a beeline to the sinc to wash his hands and mouth before making breakfast for his supposed family.

He was just in time. As soon as the last of the eggs, bacon and toasted bread were set on the table, Aunt Petunia walked in and promptly scrutinised her nephew's work. Then, pursing her lips, she nodded reluctantly and proceeded to look around the kitchen, as though she suspected that it had been damaged by said nephew's reoccurring 'freakishness'. Harry ignored it. After all, it was a routine procedure in the oh-not-so-normal household. He would only think twice about it if there was something different.

But so far there was nothing different. Aunt Petunia just thrust a list of chores to him, having taken it from the pocket of her dress, and Harry was left to his own devises for a while. At the time Uncle Vernon was available for breakfast, he was mowing the back lawn – the farthest part of it from the kitchen, so his uncle could not criticise his work while having breakfast.

Dudley did not get up until aafter eleven o'clock, and the only thing which dragged him out of his bedroom at all was his hunger. Harry had known about this, so he chose the moment to do the outside chores in the list which would get him as far as possible from the house. There were two chances written on the notebook paper Aunt Pettunia had given him: the first was delivering a caramel pudding and a get-well-soon card to Mrs. Figg down the adjacent street, and the second was shopping for small household necessities in the supermarket by the main road.

He ran away as soon as Aunt Petunia gave him the paper box containing the caramel pudding, the get-well-soon card taped to its top surface. She shrieked at him not to ruin the pudding, but not long after she was already lost in the start of her favourite gossip programme in the television, forgetting everything about him. Harry did not listen to her anyway. He had heard Dudley stomping down the stairs, so he had better go while he could. He only had to make sure that he did not seem to be fleeing anything or anyone.

Once out, though, he dawdled on his way to Mrs. Figg's house. Confident that no one was around his favourite place at such an hour in the beginning of summer, he veered to the park and seated himself in the only swing there, the only one saved from Dudley's ravaging gang. He kicked the grassy dirt gently, careful so as not to trip on his oversized trainers, and exelerated the swing, enjoying the wind ruffling his bird-nest hair and whistling softly into his ears. The pudding box was nestled between the bear branches of a small dead sapling nearby, constantly under his watch despite his self-enjoyment.

It felt like heaven to him, albeit a simple one – if there could ever be a simple heaven on earth. There was no one bothering him, harassing him, and he could be there as long as he liked since Aunt Petunia had not specified when he should be back in the house.

But, as was all bliss in the mortal world, the peace did not last long. Harry stopped kicking the air when his ears caught the sound of two or more people chattering from one of the streets surrounding the park. Curious, he halted the swing rather roughly using his shabby trainers, and sprung away from its seat. He grabbed the box, mindless of the possible little damages it suffered from its contact with the 'nest', then jogged on silent feet towards the sound of the conversation. He did not know why he was interested in eavesdropping now; it was usually Aunt Petunia's favourite pastime. Perhaps some bad habbits of the Dursleys had rubbed on him? Or probably it was only the spirit of holiday… or of rebellion.

Regardless, he kept going, and at last he saw who were talking when he skirted a stand of trees. A line of hedge which stood to his neck separated him from them, but the hedge itself did not prevent him from identifying to whom the voices belonged.

They were teenagers, surprisingly; three girls and two boys who were just a few years older than Harry. They were talking excitedly about the fair which was being held in the town square today until the next one month. The fair, an annual occasion, had been held there for who knew how long, and it was always opened by the current person bearing the name of Lord Kensington, who was the Duke of Surrey – among his other titles. Apparently, two of the teens were visiting relatives, and their cousins intended to bring them to the fair. All of them hoped to see the mysterious daughters of Lord Kensington from near, since they were said to be always attending the opening day of the fair but had only appeared formally about three years ago. One of the boys even stated that he wished to 'hook' one of the noble young ladies for himself.

Harry made a mistake. He snorted on that remark. Thankfully, he could flee the spot before any of the teens could throw a stone at him – as some children around the neighbourhood were prone to do in many occasions. But he could not escape the insults they shouted at him, all the same. Words like "Sod off, you, stinking mongrel!", "Worthless brat!", and "Curse you, runt!" hit his back and ears just as hard.

"Good move, Harry," Harry, safe on the doorstep of Whisteria Walk Number 12, Mrs. Figg's house, muttered sarcastically to himself. He did not know if the pudding inside the box had been ruined by all the jostling in his wild escape, but he could see that the get-well-soon card, taped only on one corner to the box, nearly came off. He hoped Mrs. Figg would not report the damages to Aunt Petunia. He did not want to spend the first days of his holiday doing additional chores, locked in his cupboard, or – worse – having to spend some nights sleeping on the backyard (where people would not see him, Uncle Vernon had reasoned when he had come up with the idea some years ago).

He was trapped in the house with Mrs. Figg, who had been catching a rather heavy flu, and her precious cats for some time. To his relief, however, she hinted that she would not tell his aunt about the state of the get-well-soon gift and card. He helped her storing the pudding in one of the kitchen cupboards, and got to eat two generous slices of it in the process, offered by his sneezing-and-coughing hostess. Due to Mrs. Figg's condition, she did not talk much about her cats today. She also informed him that she could not provide him with lunch. Harry understood – and was glad of it, in fact, although not in a malicious way. He excused himself on lunch hour from the house, refusing the pocket money she gave him.

The supermarket, located a few blocks from his immediate neighbourhood, was deserted when he arrived there. The clerks and cashiers were muttering and frowning at each other. All in all, it made for a daunting atmosphere, and Harry hesitated to come in. He spent a whole minute dithering on the threshold, listening to the discontented grumbles inside and the crowds on the main road outside. He only made his decision when the security man nearby glared disapprovingly at him. He had bad enough reputation around there as was; he did not want any worse assumption about him flung at him or whispered behind his back, and being branded as "snooping thief-to-be" certainly would make his freedom nill.

From the snatches of conversations Harry overheard (this time without trying, as he was perusing the shelves of goods), it turned out that the workers were irritated that they were not permitted even a day off, again, despite the fact that barely anyone would buy anything in the supermarket during the festival season, especially during the first days; there were many discounted nice goods in the fair, after all. Hearing that, the boy shrugged mentally. He had never gone to the town square (among many other places he had never gone to in Little Whinging, which were practically almost every place one could think of aside from Privet Drive Number 4, Whisteria Walk Number 12, the nearest grocery store, the park in the immediate neighbourhood, and the local primary school). He was never interested in going there, given the many criminals, bullies, and pickpockets lurking on its corners nearly year-round. The Dursleys had never permitted him to go to the fair too (the only time in which the town square was safe to go to), nor had they ever brought him to that annual holiday entertainment of theirs.

Ah. But perhaps now he could go? He was eleven years old in two months! He was big enough to go there… Right? He should not have difficulty with any harmful people, since the festival was well-guarded. His level of maturity – and longer list of hard experiences with the Dursleys – would suffice, or so he thought, eliminating his possible confusion and disorientation on what he might encounter in the town square. He could sneak there once his chores were done tomorrow.

Yes, he would go tomorrow to the fair. Now, though, he had to come back to Privet Drive Number 4 and finish his chores for the day.

He never made it to his aunt and uncle's house, all the same; not in the usual way, at any rate. His hope that he would spend at least today in peace was in vain.

"Hah! So you're there, eh, freak?"

Dudley Dursley, his bully of a cousin.

With his gang trailing him, the baby-whale-looking boy lumbered up towards Harry in a speed the latter did not expect from such a large boy. They were in the intersection connecting Privet Drive with Whisteria Walk and Magnolia Crescent. Harry's first instinct was to run away. Unfortunately for him, he was carrying a bag of groceries in each hand.

Nevertheless, he did not want to give up easily.

With the plastic bags still in his hands, he darted past the gang to the opposite direction. He intended to lose them within the deeper parts of the complex, a little farther from the neighbourhood the gang was familiar with. The ploy had worked once. He fervently hoped that it would work again this time. The bags, swinging ridiculously at his sides, slowed him down, yet somehow he did not want to discard them. The only good reason he had now was that he did not want to face Aunt Petunia's wrath when he managed to get back to the house. He was thankful that his aunt had not ordered him to buy any tinned products, as the loud clanking would have attracted the gang anywhere he tried to go. As for now, he had the slight advantage of his small body and agility.

He ran faster and faster until his legs hurt. He dove into small alleyways and side streets every so often, hoping to lose the gang more quickly. The temptation of just tossing the grocery bags to the garbage bin became more and more enticing the longer he ran (because they were, despite the nonexistence of tinned products, rather heavy). His eyes stung from the beads of sweat trickling into them, blurring his vision for a moment each time. His hands were coloured with – painful – red streaks from the unpleasant friction with the handles of the plastic carriers, and his arm muscles protested the longer he had to cope with the burdens. The bags only proved their worth when the gang, catching up with him rather swiftly, began to throw stones at him, seeming to be desperate in slowing him down. He used them like two small awkward shields to fend his back and the back of his head. They were certainly thick enough for that, but still.

`_I wish I was anywhere else_,` Harry muttered dismally when a few pebbles slipped his defenses and struck the top of his head and his lower back. `_There's a good artificial lake… I've been there once… Now where is it? Ah yeah, first I have to find Dafodil Path, then go from there to the left on the intersection after the large house in green._`

The next problem presented itself as soon as the solution was reached. The grocery bags impeded his movement, decreasing his speed, so it was hard to lose the gang long enough to search for the right intersection leading to the lake. The pain in his hands from holding the handles of the two swinging things for so long was another distraction he could not shake off.

The longer Harry ran and as well tried to dodge his pursuers, the more frustrated and desperate he became, especially since the image of the serene small lake (more a large fishing pond than anything) kept hovering in his mind eye, taunting him. Until, at one point, he found himself running directly by the lake's edge without the knowledge of how he had gotten there except for a quiet pop.

He had transported himself, in a bizarre way, from one place to the other for the second time in his life. Now, though, there was nobody witnessing it, unlike when he had ended up perched on the school kitchen's chimney while running away from the same gang.

Was there not?

He had no time to puzzle on the 'freakishness' – as dubbed by the Dursleys. Before he managed to leave the vicinity of the lake, the tick-tick sound of a speeding bicycle drifted into his ears. Warily, he ducked behind the nearby shady tree and waited for the bicycle to pass. The chance that the person riding the bicycle would harm him was rather small in this area, as it was far removed from his immediate neighbourhood, yet he still could not let go of his fresh paranoia.

Therefore, when the bicycle – an uncommon two-person bike ridden by a pair of girls – appeared and one of the riders called out to him, Harry jumped skittishly in his hiding place. His instinct told him to run away, but his curious mind instantly thirsted for answers on some immediate questions about the girls and their motifs in calling him.

In the end, his mind won over his instinct.

"Hi!" the same girl (or so he assumed) repeated her greeting when Harry emerged from behind the tree. She had a mixed Asian-European complexion, identical to her companion down to the smallest feature, and a pair of warm-brown eyes which looked somehow unfocused. She was waving at his general direction cheerily while giving him a small reassuring smile.

"Hello," replied Harry cautiously. In the mean time, he scrutinised the two girls, hoping he was not caught staring.

No luck there.

The objects of his scrutiny smiled knowingly. Harry blushed and averted his gaze. He had seen enough to conclude that they were identical twins – or at least very, very close siblings –, though. And where had he seen them before? He seemed to remember another pair of twin sisters whose eyes were their only differing feature…

"What is your name?" the other girl, charcoal-grey-eyed, the one riding in the front, spoke for the first time. She looked more serious and formal than the warm-brown-eyed one, but there was the same friendliness radiating from her, and the same small smile played on her lips.

Their warmth, if less open than what Harry had witnessed in the daily interaction of the children at his school with each other, prompted him to trust them. They were the only people around his age who ever acted nice to him, sincerely nice. But would they be like that for long?

He shifted uneasily. "Harry, Harry Potter," he said. His eyes twitched upon catching a strange glimmer in the girl's charcoal-grey orbs, and how those dark irises flickered to his fringes, to the lightning-bolt scar it partially hid from view. She seemed to automatically search, and know what to find there, although she was a complete stranger. It made Harry even more restless. How did she know where and what to find? What did his odd scar mean? Did she know about the meaning?

"I am Dila," she said as if nothing had happened, with the trace of formality Harry had expected from her, while pointing to herself. "She is Ana, my twin sister." She waved at the girl sitting behind her – who was smirking oddly, by the way. Harry nodded and hesitantly reached out a hand to shake hers, which she welcomed with her own and a pensive smile – slightly larger than the first she had bestowed him with.

There again, the odd light in the depths of those dark eyes, but this time her gaze met his steadily.

`_Why didn't she give me their sirname? I gave mine. Who is she? I never saw these girls around here, but then how did she know about my scar? How can I get how she knew if she never tells me who she is?_` Harry was frustrated. His convoluted musing was only broken when Ana, seeming to have been absorbing everything during his word exchange with Dila silently, spoke.

"Where do you live?" she asked, her cheeriness gone but her friendliness in tact. "You seemed to be running away from something… or someone." She frowned.

Harry flinched. "On Privet Drive Number 4. I am – umm – I was – ehh no – I…" he stuttered, surprised and not a little unnerved about the two overly-perceptive strangers and their strange attitudes. He swept sweat from his brow with a shaking hand, then, realising the nervousness he was presenting, promptly hid the hand in the pocket of his jeans breeches. He had trained himself not to show weakness to anyone, because it would have been exploited against him – with relish.

Dread settled in his stomach on remembering what he had been avoiding so far. How if the gang led by Dudley caught up to them? What would those criminal-like teens do to him and the girls? How if he fled now and suddenly came across them later on the way, instead of evading them? How if they told his new acquaintances about his freakishness? In short, he did not want the girls to meet the gang by any means.

"Let's go to the town square. There you can explain everything to us, and perhaps we can help you," Dila, her demeanour softening and relaxing on Harry's distressed and frightened expression, said. She dismounted the bicycle, then motioned Harry to mount it in her place. When Harry just looked more nervous, she arched a questioning eyebrow.

"Umm… I can't ride a bike," he confessed, his cheeks flaming. To his surprise, Dila just shook her head, a reassuring smile on her face, and repeated her hand gesture without a word.

It was Ana who explained to him, when he was already mounted before her, after arranging the plastic bags in the basket attached to the front of the bicycle. "As long as you're not too nervous or too stiff, we'll be fine. I'll provide us the balance. You still have to guide the bike, though. I'm blind." Oh. So it was why she looked unfocused at all time. She seemed quite confident, though, and Harry liked her like that.

"I will run behind Ana. The faster you ride, the easier I run," Dila said when his eyes landed uncertainly on hers. The last statement made the boy gape slightly in confusion. Before he could ask about it, though, Dila had moved to the rear of the bicycle, taking her chosen place. Then it was time to go, and Harry had no spare concentration to think about anything anymore. The concept Ana had explained to him was easier said than done.

They made an odd trio: a ragged-attired boy and a girl (who looked at his back rather than around) riding a grocery-ladened bicycle as fast as possible, and another girl (who behaved like a noble child despite everything) running to catch up with them. Harry was glad that there was no one in the streets they were passing. But his main concerns were not about how deserted the streets were, or if somebody saw them like that. He was more afraid if the person was one of the people buying the lies his aunt and uncle spread in the neighbourhood, if he or she told the girls about him being a delinquent boy, a criminal, or if Duddley's gang met up with them somewhere along the next street they would have to pass.

It appeared that his first concern was not about to come true. However, he was not so lucky with the second one. Not a few blocks from the town square, they passed the gang, who had been lounging on the sidewalk. It was too late to turn around and choose another street to go through. The only option left was to ride faster.

And faster they did ride. However, they did not have the advantage of distance. Soon stones flew, mostly hitting Dila's head and back but some managing to pass her, hitting Ana and Harry. The missiles urged Harry and Ana to ride even faster, hoping that in that way Dila would be spared from them. Harry, particularly, was livid with himself for setting a girl, a kind stranger no less, as his shield. The odd little noises she emitted every time the stones collided hard against her body tortured him, and he wished he was there instead of her to be the living shield. The sounds spurred him, giving him more strength to go on, in the notion that he would never hear those horrible small yelps again if he did.

He could barely breathe in relief upon sighting the first sign that they were already close to the festival area: the sudden crowds. For one, he almost had no energy to inhale the summer morning air deep enough to sigh it out. They had lost the stone-throwing, jeering and leering gang some time ago, but they did not lessen their speed until the festival area was in clear view, fearing that Dudley and his lackeys would catch up with them all too soon.

Dila only moved to the front when they reached the entrance locket. With a sweaty, trembling hand, she fished out a card and showed it to the incredulous keeper, all the while never letting Harry see her face. They went on afterwards, riding the bicycle in a sedate pace (or walking on the rear of the bike, in Dila's case), while all the other visitors to the fair were on foot.

Harry was baffled that no one in charge of the masses of visitors had spotted and stopped them yet. He was thankful of that, but wondered why nonetheless. The expression on the locket keeper's face was also peculiar; she had seemed just as frightened as he imagined Dila to be. What was with the girls that people knew but he did not? Why were they suddenly flanked by suspicious-looking people – whom he suspected were civil-garbed policemen? He did not know what to make of their not-so-subtle escorts. Were the three of them viewed as threats? Or perhaps distinguished guests? The two options sounded ludicrous in his mind; highly unlikely.

Thus, with all the previous problems he had had the misfortune to be tangled in, he could not enjoy his first ever visit to the annual fair. He looked nowhere but straight forward and down, refusing to be too unnerved with the silent and grim-looking people surrounding them. The image of Dila's wet and smudged back was still vivid in his mind, providing him with a rather-morbid distraction from all the peculiarities he had encountered so far. Were there bruises hidden underneath the light-blue T-shirt she wore? If so, it was completely his fault. He should not have let her take the rear of the group, having guessed that sooner or later he would have come across his pursuers again. Had it been a bout of naivety which had propelled him to accept her urge? Or cowardice? Somehow, the first option was more palatable than the latter.

He was only jerked back to reality when Ana squeezed the brakes of the back handle bar, stopping him mid-paddle with a jolt. He looked around wildly right after he had regained his balance, realising belatedly that they had arrived somewhere – perhaps the spot Dila had aimed for by her suggestion to go to the town square earlier.

Dila.

Harry gulped. His eyes had just landed on said girl, who was clinging to an aristocratic-looking man less than three meters away from them. Unlike his initial guess, they were not in some secluded place. Rather, they were nearly in the heart of the festival area, surrounded by both curious and uncaring visitors, and still fenced by the mysterious men. He heard not a single sob from her, although her shoulders visibly shook, and he could not see her face either since her face was buried in the man's chest.

The man… Who was he?

Harry looked up from Dila's trembling form to the half-bewildered, half-furious countenance of the man she was hugging like a lifeline.

Their eyes met.

Harry cringed.

Lord Kensington.

The man was Lord Kensington, of all people. Harry would recognise the Lord's rather-unique gaze and almond-shaped pale-blue eyes anywhere.

And it meant that Dila and Ana were actually Ardila and Ariana Kensington, the Lord's daughters. It explained all the peculiarities… and more.

Although, still, it did not give him reason why the girls seemed far older, while he remembered them to have only been slightly older than he was.

Harry had only one conclusion for his overall predicament: `_I'm in deep, deep mire._` What did the Lord think of him? His daughters' molester? Would Dila and Ana back him up, or leave him as everyone else at school had done before when faced by the ire of the Headmaster, Uncle Vernon, or Dudley? He could not ever hope for aid from his relatives or the neighbours – except perhaps Mrs. Figg. So—

"Oh my," the boy murmured to himself. The Lord, his face now a tight mask of impassivity, beckoned him with a single hand gesture – so commanding that he could not disobey even if he wanted to. His legs felt like two stiff, heavy rods of lead, and his stomach roiled unpleasantly. Then, with a last glance at the stoic Ana, he hardened his resolve and stepped forward, closer to the Lord, until they were directly facing each other, separated only by the now-calmer Dila who was still clinging – with her back to Harry – to her father. He felt like walking to his execution… and, probably, in a way, he was. What was the punishment for harming a lord's child? Was some of the feudal law he had learnt in the end of the primary school, which he had also researched in the library for his own enjoyment, still active in the present? What were they, then?

The Lord reached out a hand and tilted Harry's chin up with his index and middle fingers. He was surprisingly gentle, and Harry marvelled at it for a split moment. It suddenly just felt as if he were facing his father after a prank gone wrong.

Ah, silly. Where had the notion come from? The man before him was Lord Kensington, the official 'owner' of Surrey and some other counties. He had never known who his father was or what was it like to have a father, too. And he thought he was past the phaise in which he dreamt of being adopted into a nice family…

Ergh! What was he with family matters now? He had never paid this much attention on that sore problem this last year. Why was he suddenly mellow? Had he been mortally frightened just now? Where was all the fear gone to? Now he was confused…

The fingers had left his chin, yet Harry still looked up into the pale orbs of the Lord. He was thirsty of understanding and acceptance, and he got it from the man – ironically. He could content himself for a long while just drinking the sincere concern and warmth the man's steady gaze radiated – though it also made him strangely naked before him. There was no pity in those eyes, and he was more attracted to the man because of it. He hated being glanced at pityingly everywhere he went to (if not disgust, fear or distaste), because anyway none of the people acted up on their feeling – not that he would readily welcome such advances anyhow.

To summary all the confusion of emotions in the boy's head: Harry James Potter was feeling comfortable and even rather confident around the Lord whom he had just thought as a disguised executioner. Thus his firm voice when replying to the Lord's inquiry about his name: "Harry Potter, Sir. Harry James Potter." That was the name written in his school's official papers about him, anyway.

Umm. But what was his name to do with his scar? The Lord's eyes flickered briefly to the lightning-bolt-shaped line on his forehead, too. Like daughter, like father. Should he ask the aristocrat about the odd habit? Nope, He was not that bold yet.

The Lord did not elaborate about it either, just like Dila. He just nodded, then ordered Ana to come to him and bring the bicycle with her. Harry turned around, about to help her, but she was already sidling to where she presumably had heard her father's voice, making him a little surprised. Ana was quite well on her own, unlike — Well, he had never interacted with a physically-challenged people before, so he could not compare her with anyone in a fair manner… But he could do with Dudley, still, since the 'little orca' was handicapped to him in a way. What did they name it? Spiritually-challenged?

But now he had another person to focus on. A middle-aged lady, about the age of the Lord, was striding towards them, flanked by – what by now Harry was certain were – four civil-garbed policemen and policewomen. She had deep green eyes, round and rather small, and wavy brown locks which shone warmly under the sun. She was presently scrutinising the odd gathering with unreadable expression, but not for long.

"Who is this boy, George? What is wrong with Dila?" she asked, concerned. Her impassive visage now displayed slight wariness and curiosity. Judging from her informal tone with the Lord, Harry guessed that she was his wife, Lady Harriet. (`_Great. A full, complete family. What am I doing here?_`)

"Why don't we ask these little imps to tell us about their misadventure themselves, dear?" the Lord offered once the newcomer arrived at his side. (`_Yep. Definitely his wife,_` Harry thought drily.) "Begin with you, Harry?"

Suddenly the idea of being held for interrogation for molesting Dila by the police seemed more appealing than this inexorable ordeal. Harry groaned to himself. `_Oh my. Can't I get a good, normal summer once?_` And what worse, the twins seemed content with their silence. Traitors…


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

June 5, 1991, 11:00 AM onwards

Dila scowled with displeasure and slight consternation. Her father was a courageous man, yes, but sometimes he was too bold for his own good – or the good of the people around him. Now he had just hatched a crazy idea and coaxed her, Ana and Harry to accept and enact on it. He pretended to ignore her mother's reproachful glare steadily sent his way. Well, Mum would exact her vengeance later. The girl hid a Cheshire grin on that thought, feeling a little comforted. Mmm. The joys of having parents with military background…

All the same, it was still hard for her to act on her father's idea: that she, Ana and Harry were made to be some kind of bait to draw the vicious teenage gang they had just escaped to the trap laid by her no-less-vicious father. To achieve that goal, she and her small company had to gather around the bicycle in a clear view from the most direct way from the entrance locket, and they had to be as casual-looking as possible. It was much easier said than done, really.

"Say something, anything," she hissed to her two companions when nearly a whole minute had passed by in tense and awkward silence. Ana just raised an eyebrow in the perfect imitation of Dila's own favourite questioning gesture, her warm-brown eyes managing to meet Dila's despite her sight-impairment. Harry, on the other side of the bicycle, shifted his feet and just looked down to the old, worn-out shoes he was wearing.

`_It's not the time for moping around_,` Dila grumbled to herself, glaring half-heartedly at him meanwhile. She put her hands on the front seat and handle bar of the double bicycle and leant her weight on them. Hmm. What should she do?

When no one volunteered to say or do something after another minute of tense silence, she raked her frazzled brain in a desperate attempt to find an idea. Then, praying that the conversation would not tax both parties, she chose a random idea and addressed Harry, "Were you running away from that gang when we met? Do you know them?" Inwardly, she winced at her own poor choice of topic. The memory of the 'local gale' was still very fresh in her mind, and the physical reminders of it on her back and the back of her head were yet too new to fade. Later her parents must want to check her body for injuries, and she would have a long day with the family doctor, if not in the hospital. Whether she liked it or not, she would have to report to anyone in charge of the medical check-up that she was having a rather-terrible headache, and headaches after repetitive collision with hard objects never meant good; thus the predicted long analysis and treatment. And, as if noticing the special attention on them, the bruises throbbed extra enthusiastically. `_ow!_`

She was just in time to school her face into the mask of impassivity upon hearing Harry's answer of her question.

"Yes, I did, and I'm beyond sorry for you, for what they did to you. They… Their leader is my cousin, Dudley. They like to bully me. I… I didn't know that it extends to the people whom I'm being with too, though."

She was disbelieving. Harry seemed to have been leading a cruel life but did not complain at all. Moreover, it was hard for her to connect Harry and anyone from the gang with a kinship line. It just seemed too bizarre, too far-fetched to her; or perhaps it was only to her currently-boggled mind.

But had she not led the same – or at least similar – life just about three years ago? Children could be very cruel to their peers, especially those who were weaker than they or different – odd. She had experienced it first-hand in the orphanage overseas for the first nine years of her existence in this harsh world, had she not? Three well-lived and well-used years with love pouring to her and her twin sister from the Kensington couple seemed to be very good in erasing the bad memories of her previous life. How fast mankind could forget… No, she must not forget, if only in order to appreciate this life she was leading more sincerely.

Trying to shake off her grim thoughts, she peered into the basket in front of the bicycle, at the grocery bags Harry had been carrying when they had met nearby the recreational artificial lake. "Were you buying something for your mother?" she asked absently, fingering the bags, trying to figure out what were inside without actually looking in. If her suspicion about his identity was true, then he would say no…

He did. "No. My parents are dead. My aunt and uncle said they died in a carcrash when I was one year old. I've been living with my aunt, uncle and cousin here since then."

`_What!! Car crash?!_` She scowled, but at the same time tried to hide it as a grimace as best as she could. So the famous Harry Potter never knew about magic… Mmh. Let the adults act on this. For once she was glad that she was not yet an adult – or considered as one.

"Oops. Sorry." It was an honest enough apology, and it matched her outward expression rather well.

"It's okay. I've been asked that many times anyway. People at school often use a mocking tone when asking, so it's worse than this."

Oops. So open and off-handed.

Dila suppressed a physical wince. She did not know if he did not mind people showing sympathy to him openly, and it was neither the time nor the place to provoke him into reacting to such. Well, come to think of it again, it was neither the time for such delicate matter, actually.

To her immense relief, Ana took over after that. "Is your cousin always like that? Do your aunt and uncle know about his behaviour?"

Harry shook his head. "No," Dila supplied. The boy stared at her, but then his eyes widened in comprehention and remembrance, and he stammered an apology at Ana. Dila stifled a snicker for his benefit. The boy was so kind and shy! If he continued to endear her, he would be the fastest person to make friend with her.

"You don't seem to be the type to stutter, you know, so quit it," Ana drawled in reply. She got a light smack on the back of her head from Dila for that, while said girl's body shook with suppressed laughter. Harry, on the receiving end of the rebuke, just grinned uncertainly.

"I agree with my dear sister," Dila drawled, rolling her eyes. She got a half-hearted pouting glare from him for the comment, which translated as: "You should have backed me up!" Good. Now he opened himself more to the sisters, less shy than before.

The conversation wound down to silence afterwards, yet the tension between them had evaporated. Dila resumed her scrutiny of the grocery bags, while Ana was humming softly. Harry, she saw from the corner of her eye, was gazing around in a timid – and slightly wary – manner. The invisible wounds he had in his character needed much time to heal and recover, she guessed, but the recuperation seemed to progress nicely.

Harry was the first to spot the oncoming gang, given how he spent his waiting time. Dila looked up reluctantly from the bags hearing his hiss and sensing the abrupt tension in the area. Where were they – Ah, there.

Five children no older than her were strutting towards them. The leader, a boy with straight blond hair and small blue eyes, was the largest in the group – and looked the most stupid among them. All of them, especially the leader of the gang, appeared exhausted but maliciously excited, somehow. The leader – Harry's cousin? – showed his meaty fists at the three children and grinned in a cocky manner. It was a challenge and a threat at once.

Dila leant heavily against the bicycle, feeling the colours draining from her face on the idea of a possible hand-to-hand melee, however short it might be. She was too weak for that, yet she needed to protect her twin and Harry. Where were those 'invisible' police force? They were too inobtrusive for her peace of mind. Meh. She should have realized this before, when they had still had time…

"So you're here, eh, Potter? Thinking of picking someone's pocket?" the blond boy sneered aloud when they were in hearing range. Dila straightened her stance and balled her own fists. Ana rested a hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed it, her other hand spread before her twin sister in a blocking gesture.

"Shouldn't it be you, ickle Duddykins?" Harry jeered back despite the silent warning. "Mummy and Daddy never know about what their precious boy is like outside home, do they?"

Ah, no; not a warning. Ana was smirking in amusement on Harry's return blow. Dila, catching on her double image's little plan, sported an identical smirk. A vicious part in her soul cheered gleefully. She liked this game. Now she could thank her father properly for coming up with it in the first place, and perhaps persuade her mother to be softer with whatever punishment she had come up for him.

"Never talk to me like that, skum. You think you and those sniffling girls can defeat us, don't you?" the pig-like blond growled. "Their pretty faces can't save them, except if they let us snog—"

He never finished the statement – thankfully. Two grim-looking men in casual attire flanked him in an instant and forced him to the side, away from Harry and the twins. "Ger'roff me!" the boy panicked. But no amount of struggling and squealing could free him from the restraining hands of the men. His lackeys were in the same fate. They were positioned so that they were lined up facing the twins and Harry – but at a good two meters distance, their hands held behind their backs by each a policeman.

`_Ah. It ended too soon. Oh well. I even thought this trap didn't work because of those people's inattention,_` Dila groused. `_The nerve of that boy… I'd fight him regardless of everything if he continued._`

Ensured that her company had the upper hand, she relaxed and openly scrutinised the gang one by one, smirking darkly when each boy squirmed with unease under her sharp gaze. Seeing the gang in such a helpless state was like savouring a delicious cookie. Her expression and bearing aided the air of intimidation, or so she thought. In spite of her stained T- shirt and mussed hair, she made sure that she looked every inch a noble lady. She had no chance to question them, though, for her father promptly approached them, seeing that his trap had been 'activated', and did that himself.

"What are your names?"

Nobody from the gang answered.

"What are your names?"

Still no answer. But now Dila could see that the boys were mortally-afraid, rather than belligerent. Apparently her father realized the same thing.

"Fine. I do not have much time to do this, after all." Dad's attention shifted to the men flanking the mortified boys. "Please treat them as the law sees fit, gentlemen. I shall be expecting your regular report on them. Please do also a further investigation of this case. I am afraid that these boys might have done more damage before this, and there are other people involved."

"As you wish, my lord," the ten men, all civil-garbed policemen, said in unison and saluted. The blond boy began crying and wailing. Dila stared disgustedly at him. Ana was apparently doing the same, for she heard her twin grumbling about unabashed overgrown toddlers. Harry was strangely quiet during all the proceedings, and Dila could not discern his feelings or thoughts through his blank expression. It was as though he was stunned.

He only spoke when the gang had been led away. His statement surprised both the twins and their parents. "I have to go home. My aunt and uncle must be told about this. I have things to deliver there too. I… I thank you for your kindness and help." It was lame and reluctant, but nonetheless honest. The twins inched closer to him, unwilling to part with him for a reason they themselves did not know. Their parents, meanwhile, were gazing at him thoughtfully.

"You don't want to go," Ana opined bluntly in a low voice. "Judging from the way you said it, you were neglected or even abused at home." Dila nodded to the statement, supporting her sister.

"Ana. Dila," their father reprimanded them softly, but his eyes never left Harry.

On Ana's suggestion, it was decided that Harry would be escorted home. He actually looked relieved. The twins mirrored him, but the relief they felt was for another thing entirely. They had decided, through the mental link they shared, that that each of them would try to convince their parents and Harry's guardians to agree on adoption. Having a younger brother would be marvelous, especially one near their age and a welll-mannered, well-meaning one at that. Life in the manour was good and fun, but there was just so much one could enjoy in the repetitive interaction with adults, books, animals and toys.

Mum called Viniele, the twins' governess and maid at once, on one of the useful but impractical (It was big!) mobile phones Dad had bought for the family and important staff. The everyoung-looking lady (who by the way had never divulged her true age to anyone) looked taken aback when she arrived, a shopping bag on one hand. No surprise there, because Mum had not informed her about Harry at all. Dila could only wish that the weird silent battle between them, which had lasted since Viniele had been hired three years ago, would end soon. It was ludicrous. Hmm. Would she fall to the same hole someday? Meh. Even donkeys did not fall into the same trap a second time; so why did humans do? Oh no, irrelevant question, at least for now.

"This is Viniele, Harry, our children's governess," Dad introduced Vin to the uncomfortable boy wedged between Dila and Ana. Said woman smiled and, approaching Harry, extended a hand. Seeming not to know what he had to do or say, the boy just shook her hand in a hesitant manner. He only looked up to meet her eyes when her fingertips alit softly on his left cheek. There was a deep, hidden longing in his eyes that was heartbreaking for those who perceived it.

It was what Dila was busy pondering about while they were on their way to Privet Drive Number 4. Was Harry that unaccustomed to friendly gestures? She walked by her father's side, with her mother at his other side. Harry was walking slightly ahead with Ana, silent save when he had to give directions when they reached the intersections. The family did not talk much either, preferring not to attract any kind of attention from the occupants of the houses they were passing. Viniele had been ordered to put the bicycle back into their van, and the police force had been dissuaded – by the combined strength of Mum's knowledge on law and Dad's diplomacy skill – from tailing them like a squadron of guard dogs, so they were alone and totally on their own.

Privet Drive Number 4 looked no more extraordinary than the other houses in the block. Its front yard, the patches which were not used as driveway, was covered by trimmed lawn grass and thriving flower beds. Its only separator from the communal street was a low brick wall. Harry was about to go into the house, the grocery bags in his hands, when Dad spoke after such a long, comfortable silence. "We wait."

Harry's steps faltered, and so did the twins and their mother. He and the twins looked up in confusion at Dad, but Mum nodded and seated herself as primly as the situation allowed on the brick wall. On the children's voiced question directed to her (as Dad did not want to elaborate, being deep in thought and seeming not to be aware of the imploring stares), she said, "We cannot simply come in and inform the parents about their son's arrest. It is the territory of the police. We have to wait for their representatives." The underlying message was clear for perceptive listeners, though: "We need some backups for this. Self-defense does not really sit well with the law, and not especially when the doers are members of highborn society." Politics… again.

"Make sense," Dila muttered. Yes, the message did. "I hope they arrive soon, though. I don't want to wait long here. A bed home is most welcome." `_And a day-long rest to boot_. This brick wall is rather uncomfortable for that.`

She forgot about the visible marks of her encounter with the gang led by Harry's cousin. Her mother's attention was abruptly on her, like a vulture finding prey all of a sudden. She bombarded her with quiet but insistant questions and fussed at her, examining every inch of her body for signs of injuries going more threatening than they had been. "Mum…!" Dila whined, cheeks nearly as red as a ripe tomato. She studiously looked at no one. Ana must be snickering to herself now, Dad rolling his eyes, and Harry… Hmm. What was Harry doing? She did not know him well enough to predict his possible reaction. Peeking a look at him was not worth the shame, however, so she restrained her curiosity – for now.

She was saved from further fussing by the arrival of the awaited police representatives. There were four of them, two men and two women, driving two 'silent' police cars. They greeted the family with a salute, and shook Harry's hand with a kind smile on their faces. Thankfully, Ana had warned them of the oncoming cars so that she and Mum did not have to be embarrassed at being caught doing what a mere mother and daughter would do when they disagreed. They would not mind people witnessing that rather rare spectacle, yet it would not do their public image good.

They trooped to the house, Harry and the two policemen on the lead. They were bidden in by an anxious Petunia Dursley, who said that Vernon, her husband, was at work. She guided them to the living-room and bade them to sit on the couches while she made tea for them all (an offer which they refused politely). She was being polite and cooperative, except when she snapped at Harry to "go to Dudley's second bedroom and don't come out unless I tell you so." Mum requested that he be present in the living-room, though, so she – reluctantly – capitulated.

The situation only got messy when, after ten minutes of polite conversation, one of the policewomen informed her – as gently as possible – that her son was presently being interrogated in the local police station for bullying three other children, including Harry. The horse-like-faced woman exploded verbally (as well as in tears), unwittingly screaming bits of information in her ranting, which was swiftly written down in a notebook by the policewoman who had priorly delivered the news to her. Upon realising it, she attempted to seize the notebook, but was held back by the two policemen.

"Your presence is required in our office, Ma'am," one of the policemen said firmly. Then, without further ado, he signaled to his comrade with the flicker of a glance, and they went out to one of the police cars, half-dragging the histerical Petunia.

"Is she arrested?" Harry asked in a small voice. It was the first time he said anything since they had arrived outside the house. He fidgetted, but at once tried to hide it from the twins who sat at either side of him. Unknown to him, Dila was nowhere as composed as her parents either, and Ana was as well disconcerted. They sat stiffly on their seats as opposed to moving restlessly, and their parents recognised the sign for what it was – although they could do nothing about it presently.

"Most likely," the policewoman standing nearest to the boy answered in a grave but gentle tone. "Your information will be needed, but I suppose it is for tomorrow. Vernon Dursley will be fetched once he gets back from work. Our civil-garbed comrades will make sure about it." It was a hardly-comforting reassurance for jittery children.

"You can stay with us in the meantime," Dila suggested, filling in the role the policewoman had not played well in. She glanced hopefully back and forth between her parents and Harry. "Right, Mum? Dad?" Her parents' succinct nod elicited a goofy grin from her, although it was a little strained by her own stressed nerves.

"Yea! Now let's get your things and we'll be off, Harry," she chirped, barely containing her mirth – and nervousness. Finally she and the other two children would be away from the living-room and its gloomy atmosphere. This was why children were generally forbidden to be involved in what people would categorise as "adult business;" when properly applied, it was for their own sakes.

Another nod from her parents sent her off with her twin and Harry. The balloon of joy in her chest deflated a bit, though, when Harry directed them to the cupboard under the stairs instead of said flight of stairs itself. "Wha?" she gaped. "Oh. Do you store your things there?" Wow. Then how many were his things? It was rather odd, as he wore horrible hand-me-downs…

Harry's cheeks went crimson. He refused to look at any of the twins. He raised a pair of trembling hands and opened both doors of the cupboard for the twins to see, all without a word. That alarmed Dila, and jerked Ana from her musing – only God knew what.

The girls dithered before the cupboard, unable to decide if they should retreat to the living-room or look inside. It was like facing a high-explosive bomb. In the end, however, their childlike curiosity won and they peaked into the small space, illuminated by a small cheap neon lamp hanging from the ceiling. The cupboard was stuffed with disused things, but also with the barest hints of a child's room – like broken toys and laid-out crumpled blankets.

Ana drew back as though stung or slapped. Dila imitated her a moment after. They had come to a conclusion: Harry lived there, in the cupboard. It was a fact less human than what they had experienced in their previous lives, even if combined.

"Harry, would you mind stopping packing for a while?" Dila, in the firmest voice she could manage, whispered. "Just for a moment?" On his curt nod, she took off back into the living-room to inform her parents and the two policewomen, a horrid look on her face.

When she came back, with the four adults trailing behind her, Ana and Harry were sitting on the bottom step of the stairs. Her twin had an arm around Harry's shoulders, while Harry himself was looking down at his shoes, his elbows propped on his knees. One of the policewomen came and knelt before the boy, gently tilting his chin up with the tip of her index finger. "Do you really sleep in the cupboard, Harry?" she asked softly. "There is no shame in confessing anything to us. The ones who should be ashamed are your relatives. They have been treating you inhumanly, haven't they? Your aunt told us so, indirectly." Her tone was subtly forceful, but Dila cared less about it in the present. Her mind still reeled from the fact, and she could not pay attention to what Harry might be experiencing now.

A single tear rolled down the boy's right cheek. It was more than enough.

Dad looked murderous. Mum was gobsmacked. The twins held onto each other like a lifeline and shuddered. The two policewomen, meanwhile, quickly got to work, taking notes on everything they found in the cupboard and also some photographs of it.

Then came the hardest part. A photograph of Harry's current condition was required for evidence. The boy was quite reluctant. Fortunately, at last the still-a-little-dazed mother of the twins managed to coax him into consenting. She then took another photograph; for family album, presumably, although Dila could not fathom her reason of doing so, except if she intended to record Harry's life before his adoption, something she had not been able to do in the twins' case. Did her parents intend to adopt Harry? She fervently wished so, and now that she had more reason to support that decision, she would not relax before Harry was welcomed in the family as its legal member. No, not so that they were recognized as a family who aided Harry Potter the saviour of the Wizarding World in getting a better life, but so that Harry the neglected and abused malnourished boy had a home and a family at last.

Since the clothes and other items in Harry's possession were not fit for even casual events, Mum and Dad asked him to bring nothing, saying that they would go shopping later together to provide him with the necessities. The boy stuttered feebly, trying to refuse, but Mum and Dad were adamant about it, and the twins supported them fully. When they asked if those things held a special sentimental value to him, he confessed that they did not, and that was the end of the argument. The items were packed, but then they were given to the policewomen to be later used as evidence. The only thing Harry brought with him was an old baby blanket which was frayed and looked dirty. It was the blanket he had been wrapped in when he had been found about ten years ago on the doorstep of the house, he said.

The family left after that, taking Harry with them. The policewomen stayed, since they wished to investigate everything in and around the house. The grocery bags were left perched on the tea table in the living-room, abandoned, just like everything else in Privet Drive Number 4.

A light-blue-grey van was parked by the last police car, the family's. Viniele was leaning against the car, waiting for them with blank expression. That changed, however, when her eyes landed on the people filing out of the front door. Dila could understand her shock, and she appreciated her friend's tactfulness in not asking for the source of the grim and furious – or dazed, in Harry's case – expression etched on their features.

"To the nearest hospital, Viniele," Dad half-growled. Startled, Vin saluted and darted into the driver's seat. Dila threw her father a – wary – sulking glare. There was no use retaliating to an innocent party.

Well, there was no use protesting to her father either when he was in his 'scary mode', it seemed, for he ignored her. Not wanting to prompt more anger in him by way of impatience, she shoved Harry into the middle seat none too gently, followed by Ana, before she herself hopped in and slammed the door shut; all as if a loose big carnivorous beast were chasing after them. On the other end of the seat, her mother was sitting in a rigid pose and did not even respond to the shivering Harry seated right beside her.

Dila did not want to think what would happen if her parents saw the result of her check-up in the hospital. She had better plot to dissuade her parents from accompanying her in the check-up. Viniele would suffice, and moreover, she was not affected by the emotions contaminating the family currently. Yes, she would suffice. But then how to make Mum and Dad see reason?

The downside of having vicious blood in her veins, which meant that her family had too.

Oh well. Life could not be always good, could it?

And if one needs a devious plan, go to Ana for a great piece of advice.

Yes. That would do.

A small grin blossomed in her face, threatening to break free if not tethered well. No, she had not forgotten what horror she had witnessed in the house they had just left, and a living reminder of it sat only a person away from her. Nevertheless, she now had more control of herself, and that was a big advantage in a pack of hungry, hunting wolves which was her family. After all, there should always be a voice of reason in a group so they would not run rampant, a jester so that they would not be gloomy, and a plotter so that everything could be set right again.

That would do, indeed. That should do.

The nearest hospital was some miles away, according to her memorised map of Surrey, so she had time for a… private consultation. Bless be her love of maps, and bless be her sister.

`_Ana, we got a problem._`

_`Well, we all have._`

`_Okay, I have. Satisfied? It isn't the time for joking, anyway. We must somehow make Vin accompany me for the check-up, not Mum and Dad. You know why._`

`_Sorry. Hmm. Let me think of that… Ah! How if…_`


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

June 5, 1991, 04:00 PM to June 6, 1991

Harry could not decide whether he liked the family or not, particularly Lord Kensington. The only thing he was truly sure about was that he did not want to be on the receiving end of the Lord's murderous look, ever. He nearly believed that, if the Lord so wished, said Lord could kill anyone with just his gaze.

He had witnessed said look plastered on Lord Kensington's face twice. The first had been when Harry had confessed about his cupboard, and the second… the second was now, when he and Dila, accompanied by Viniele, were back from their medical examinations in the local hospital. Ana, the Lord and the Lady Kensington had been waiting in the van, on Dila's persistent coaxing. The plan was to get a late lunch after the check-ups in one of the restaurants they passed, then do some shopping before returning to the family's temporary lodging (wherever it was). It seemed not workable now, though, judging from Lord Kensington's current mood.

The plan did change. After scanning over the charts and medical reports, the Lord announced curtly that he wished to go to the police station in which the Dursleys were being interrogated.

"Did you find something wrong, George?" Lady Kensington asked, greatly concerned, while Viniele was maneuvering the van out of the parking lot and to the exit locket. Her husband nodded but did not elaborate, so she turned to Dila and asked her for the explanation.

The girl's quiet answer made Harry freeze in horror. "Light concussion and bruises. Dad's mad about those." Why did she comply? But, on second thought, it was better that way. Neither of them wished to be on the receiving end of Lord Kensington's formidable ire; or the Lady, if her effort to pursue the knowledge was thwarted. It was good too that no one spoke about Harry's lingering evidence of ill treatments by the Dursleys.

"How not?" her father snapped. Harry winced on his seat. Judging from the twins' stoic reactions, though, he guessed that they had ever experienced this kind of situation before – perhaps more often than he was comfortable with.

"George," the Lady admonished him. It was answered by a sharp, deep sigh coming from her husband – as though he were preparing to shout in the top of his lungs. Harry braced himself.

But the seemingly-inevitable explotion never came around.

Harry's eyes were round with disbelief in their sockets. The expression was not shared with the other people in the van, though.

"How did you two get those bruises? And a concussion no less." Seeming to be convinced that her husband would not explode into a tirade, the lady veered her attention back to her daughter, who looked as if she had swallowed something unpleasant. Dila flicked a sulking glance at Harry, but he was too deep in confusion to notice anything – as her mother had predicted by asking her instead of Harry or the both of them.

"They threw stones at us. I was behind Ana and Harry, so I was hit by most of the missiles. I think Harry got hit before he met us."

Again, Harry was glad that at least Dila omitted what she knew about Harry's relatives' less-than-friendly attitude towards him, which came out as old welts and bone fractures littering his body. He had been afraid that she would retaliate to him in that way, like what Dudley would have done in her place. After all, the family were yet a bunch of strangers in his eyes. Moreover, the knowledge of the significance of all the injuries would only leak if one was willing to talk about it; and Dila had, partially.

"What?! You didn't tell me. Why didn't you, when I could still go back to inquire further about everything to the doctor?"

"George."

"I didn't want you to be madder, Dad. That poor doctor was frightened enough as it was. He might've fainted if you went back and did or said something."

Harry was incredulous. If the Lord was like his uncle (and most other adults he knew, for that matter), Dila's reasoning would blow his fury to a whole new level. Why did she do so? Her courage and defiance were to be admired, all the same. And with that, his irritation about what she had done dissolved into nothingness.

Contrary to his guess, the van fell silent except for the droning of its machine and the softer noise of its wheels rolling on the road. He hated this quiet. He would have preferred the verbal explotion than this tension, the thick moments before a timebomb blasted.

It appeared that the twins, especially Dila, were no less uncomfortable with the situation. They picked at the hem of their shorts or played with their fingers, their faces downcast. Their mother did not attempt anything to soothe the tension, being distressed herself.

`_all because of me_,` Harry mused dolefully. He studiously looked outside the window, thanking the arrangement that he sat by the car door. He was afraid of what he would find if he looked around the inside of the van. Once was enough. He believed that the mood would not change, and if it did later, it would not be a positive one.

The dark thoughts swhirled in his head, but then they gradually petered out, replaced by emptiness.

Peaceful emptiness.

Harry jerked on his seat. His eyelids flew open. He blinked rapidly and looked around the van's interior in confusion. He cursed himself for lowering his guard and falling asleep, although a part of his mind argued that it had been involuntary and therefore unexpected.

In first inspection, he concluded that he had only slept for a little while. It changed, though, when he noticed the much-lighter atmosphere in the van and the relaxed bearings of the other passangers – at least those whom he could see from his position on the corner. When he looked outside, he also noticed that the sun had sunk a little further from its high perch. He had been asleep for several hours.

What had he missed?

How to ask about it?

"We have arrived, Harry. Do you feel all right to come out? We are at the police station now."

Lord Kensington.

Harry jerked upright on the last statement. He tensed and paled. Lady Kensington's comforting hand on his own did not do much to alleviate his nervousness. What had he done? What would they do to him?

Oh. The medical reports. The Dursleys.

"I am all right, Sir," relaxing instantly, he answered. "Shall we cgo now?"

The statement was responded by Lord Kensington's large, approving grin. Inwardly, Harry questioned if befriending the family was indeed wise. They looked more vicious and stern than most, at the same level with the Dursleys – although for a vastly- different reason; and their moodswings was equally dangerous. Then again, who was he to choose?

The Lord opened the door beside him and stepped out. The motion was imitated by Viniele on the opposite door, who then opened Lady Kensington's door for her. Harry was pulled after the lady, as the lord ushered his children out via the opposite door. In this way, they looked like a ragtag family with three unruly children, an unlikely bodyguard, and two patrician parents dressed with meticulous casualness. He did not mind it, though; not a bit, if it meant he had– No, no, he must not think about it.

They were met half-way by a police constable, who greeted the lord and lady and promptly guided them inside without any question about why they were there in the first place. Had Lord Kensington communicated what he wanted to do to the police with his mobile phone? That sounded odd, but then again, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia did not have any mobile phone to brag to anyone, so Harry was not used to the fact that people could communicate many things from almost anywhere.

"Please wait here for a moment, my lord, my ladies. The interrogation on Vernon Dursley has commenced for some time. We could arrange you to witness the rest of it, if you would like to?" The constable bowed at first to Lord Kensington, then to Lady Kensington and the twins. His curious gaze swept Harry, but he spoke nothing about the presence of the badly-attired and badly-cared boy there. On the lord's agreeing nod, he smiled grimly and excused himself from the small waiting room.

The policeman was back not two minutes later with a profuse – if said in only a few words – apology; Uncle Vernon's interrogation had already been adjourned. Harry could not decide whether he was happier with this situation or otherwise. His nerves had been frayed thin from the events of the day, and he was not sure if he could take more insults from his uncle. The sentiment was shared with the noble family, however, so he did not feel too bad about it. Lord Kensington arranged a visit there for the afternoon the day after tomorrow, but since now all parties were informed, they could prepare. It was especially important for Harry, at least in the boy's opinion, because of the same reason why he felt relieved he did not have to face the Dursleys now.

But the Lord also handed over the medical reports to be copied for evidence, and Harry felt distinctly afraid of what would happen next.

Dutifully, he trailed behind the twins with Viniele, then positioned himself beside Ana when the governess detached herself from the company to turn on the van. The twins held each a strong attraction on him, albeit for different reasons. Dila was a kindred spirit to him, always bubbling under the surface even at her most silent or mood. But Ana was an opposite force which pacified him – and Dila as well, to that effect – and provided him the anchor he always sought to curb his energy to a manageable level. (Well, the fact that Ana was seen as special – regarding her blindness – in his eyes tilted the favour at her a bit, admittedly.) Therefore, now that he was more frazzled than he could remember ever be, Ana's calming presence helped in soothing him, a lot. That seemed to work with Dila too, because he had never noticed the other girl – in any way – being farther than two meters from her twin sister.

The children filed into the van in the same order in which they had exited. When Dila asked where they would go next, Lord Kensington answered with a question of his own instead of a definite information or denial. ("Do you think you can endure more strain, children? Be honest.") It was odd in the boy's perception. His aunt and uncle had never treated Dudley with that sort of response; certainly not him, too. Why did the Lord refuse to reply in a straight-forward manner? Was it because he did not know what to say? Or that the twins – and perhaps Harry? – were, again, given a free rein on their choices and decisions? The whole collective situation only became more surreal the longer he stayed with the family, he concluded resignedly to himself. His head throbbed, his body felt drained, and his mind was both overstuffed and painfully empty at once. He could not endure more surprises or new things, but he did not dare speak it up. He had learnt to keep silent when not addressed directly by the Dursleys. The Lord could have just addressed his daughters when he mentioned "children." No, he must not keep his hopes up, lest they would suddenly crash back down; another painful lesson his life had so far taught him.

He could not enjoy the journey, the first car trip he ever remembered participating in without scorns directed to himself and his parents, or bulying from any passenger of the vehicle. He was tired and drowsy, and he only wanted to rest for a while for the rest of the trip…

Someone carried him; a woman, whose perfume was a nice soft lavender. Lullabies were hummed faintly into his ear, done in an almost absent-minded manner. Then he was snuggled in her lap, embraced even more warmly and securely than before. Hands – different hands from different people – caressed his untidy locks lovingly, albeit just in passing. Sounds of household activities provided a nice background on the edge of his hearing, strangely reassuring and evoking a sense of belonging, of security and acceptance. It was vastly-different from what he was used to, but he could not remember what he was before this. Everything hovered on the verge of full unconsciousness. It felt so peaceful and contented.

Then he was tucked into a soft bed, flanked by two people (Adults. But why did they do that?), and he plunged into a deep sleep, unmarred by dreams. When he woke up again, he felt as if he was a reborn being.

But it was early in the morning, he could tell. Why had Aunt Petunia not called – or rather, shrieked – for him? There was breakfast to make, garden to tend, fence to repaint—

"Harry? I know you're awake. Just take a shower. I'm sure you're hungry. We are, at any rate."

Who was that?

He recognised her somewhere…

"I, for one, am starving. So you had better wake up or I shall introduce your head to a glass of ice water." A threat, from another voice but similar to the former; but there was no malice in it, just as there had been no scorn in the other.

Harry blinked his eyes open, then automatically groped around for his glasses. Erh, why was the bed so big? There were three big, fluffy pillows on it as far as he knew, too – and his head was lying on one of them. The sheets felt so warm and comfortable…

Someone thrust his glasses into his searching left hand. "Now, no more excuse." It was the second person – the second girl.

Harry put his glasses on and blinked again. Off-white ceiling welcomed his vision. Was he in a hospital? He had precipitously broken his back on one occasion after Dudley had pushed him down the stairs at school, and his uncle had grudgingly brought him to a nearby hospital to treat his injury…

"Quit fretting and let's go, lazybone. Or I can just eat you for breakfast." No. That first annoying person could have honed up her threatening voice more… like Dudley…

Ana.

Oh yes. She was ana, and where there was Ana, there was her twin sister. That meant—

Was he staying in wherever the family lived? But it was impossible. He was a stranger, a grubby one at that. Surely they would not have trusted him so quickly and readily?

"Eek!" Harry bolted into a sitting position. Someone had just poured a small but potant amount of icy water down his hairline. The gales of satisfied laughter his reaction generated solidified his suspicion that the culprit was Dila. Much more awake and alert now, he glared sulkily at the girl. There was no water container in sight, but she could have just hidden it somewhere. He would get back to her on that little annoyance some time… if he dared, that was. He was even surprised that he could have maintained such a train of thoughts, as if they were family. No no, he had been too close to them, and it was bad. He had to leave them before they left him.

Could he, though? He doubted it, as he was frog-marched outside the bedroom, past the vestibule, and to a corner reserved for kitchen area. A simple dining table with five chairs separated it from the rest of the central room, and it was where the twins dragged him to.

Harry gaped. He did not even notice when Ana shoved him into a chair and Dila did something with his hair which left it instantly dry. The view of the kitchen area was what he had never even thought possible before, and especially not in an aristocratic family like this. Lord and Lady Kensington seemed to be preparing breakfast in tandem, with the occasional help from Viniele. The governess herself was busy writing something in a notebook, sometimes scratching her temple in thought or frustration. She often consulted the noble couple about things – things Harry did not understand like loops in adoption laws in both worlds (`_Worlds?_`), lesson plan for next month, and updates on various living places he did not bother to count.

Uncle Vernon would have never deigned to touch the kitchen stove or spatula. Neither adults in the Dursley household would have ever let their assistant (considering they had one, and not a slave-in-all-but-name like Harry) go from such menial chores too. The difference was rather shocking, and it left Harry reeling slightly. What other surprises were waiting for him if he stayed longer around this family?

If.

The cool rim of a glass was pressed gently to his lips. Harry's vision snapped into focus.

"Drink." The voice was a soft baritone, and the order was mild; a parent to a child.

There was only one other male in the company aside from him. And with that revelation, Harry's eyes widened. He tried to take the glass from Lord Kensington, but the man persisted, and so he let himself drink from his hand, like a young or sick boy that he was not – or he thought he was not. Oddly, no one teased him. It was a surprise to him, since the twins had appeared to be intent on joking at his expense. Now they were quiet, focusing on helping their mother prepare the breakfast table, while Viniele moved to the tea table on the central room to continue her work.

On finishing the glass of cool water, Harry was herded back to the bedroom by the Lord, and shown to a set of clothes spread out on the bed (which he could see now was a king-sized one, with evidence of being slept in comfortably and five – instead of three – big pillows). "Viniele bought these and some other things for you, but we shall get more today," said the Lord. "That depends on you, though. Are you inclined to a large shopping today?" Harry just stood there, gaping like an idiot, unaccustomed to being addressed like that and let to choose what to do. His voice had never been counted before; not at school, and certainly not among the Dursleys. Should he attempt to assimilate himself to this new idea? But then when he was thrown back to living with the Dursleys, he must—

Where was the Lord?

In the bathroom? On second inspection, he found a sliding door on one corner of the bedroom. Drifted from the door was the sound of someone preparing a bath. The Lord, then? But for what? For him? Why was he being catered to? He felt uncomfortable with the treatment, like an itch under his skin that he could not get rid of. Did the Lord and his family act nice – overly so – to him because they had something they wanted him to do or give? But what was that? He had nothing to give, and the family was quite well off on their own.

When the Lord emerged from the bathroom, Harry stiffened. He answered the man's inquiring stare with a hard, demanding one of his own.

The older male sighed and smiled sadly. There was no falsehood on his eyes and face, Harry realised. Having trusted his instinctive and mental analysis to judge characters his whole life, he trusted his feelings now, as much as he would like to do otherwise. But still, he refused to back down from his earlier opinion, and the Lord – Should he be surprised now? – acknowledged his choice with a level of respect he thought impossible.

"Take a long bath, Harry, then we shall have a talk over breakfast. Yes, all of us, because it concerns this whole company."

Harry hesitated. His stony gaze dissolved into confusion.

"The hot water and the scented steam will help you think over everything more clearly, child. They relax the nerves, mind and soul, and you need such relaxation now. I learnt bitterly that hasty decisions only bring ruin to oneself."

And indeed, those pale orbs were haunted, on closer look. It was as if Harry reminded the Lord of another boy he had lost. Was the family making up for some poor treatment to someone else in the past, then? It seemed just as bad as other ulterior motifs Harry could think of.

"No, child, he is different from you. He was, anyway."

The pain in those eyes… No, he could not stand it.

Harry fled to the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him, forgetting to snag his new clothes on the way. His breathing was ragged, and his heart was beating rapidly, as if wanting to escape his squeezing chest. How had the Lord known? How had he been so roothless? Was the truth worth paining others, who had only shown him genuine courtesy so far? But he had not known that whatever message his outlook had leaked would have done that, had he? He was blameless… was he not?

The fragrance of the scented steaming water drifted unheeded into his nostrils. The large tub with its milky, bubbling water lost its appeal to his eyes. Harry stood on the middle of the bathroom, unmoving and unseeing. He lost track of time, and of his own thoughts.

But, contrary to what one might believe, he was roused from his stupor by only three sharp knocks on the bathroom door.

Feeling rather faint, Harry turned around and reached out a shaking hand towards the handle of the door.

Dila was waiting outside, his clothes and a towel draped over her arms. But what attracted Harry to her was not the garments. Her face was the closed expression from early in their first encounter with each other, yet this time it was less friendly. If she was angry with him, she did not show it. Her eyes betrayed nothing other than cool politeness. Still, Harry shrank back, looked down, and mumbled a string of profuse apologies.

"You just did not know."

The words were pronounced slowly, indifferently. He wished she had screamed at him. This silence and composed demeanour was more unnerving than Uncle Vernon's occasional drunken rages, and he had been scared out of his wits during those.

"W-where is he?" he whispered. Dila's gaze sharpened, boring into his skull. Harry gulped. "Where is your father?" he asked again after three times inhaling and exhaling deeply. "I… I want to apologise to him." He forced himself to look up, to convey his sincerity and earnest wish. Apparently Dila had not anticipated him to do so, because it was only a second later that she managed to close up her expression again; a second too late. Harry had managed to glimpse pain, anger, bitter reproval and anguish in just that precious moment.

Realising that she was fighting a lost course and refusing to continue on her endeavour, she simply said in that emotionless tone she had been using, "He's still drinking on the balcony, if Mum can't coax him out of it by now."

Harry's heart plummeted to his toes. He averted his gaze once more from her hard eyes. "I'm sorry," he repeated, weaker than before.

"You just did not know." That again. He began to suspect that the answer had been programmed by her brained in advance. Had he just lost a good chance of finally having a better life – a family who loved him, who he could love in return, and a steady, secure home to live in? Oddly enough, a pit of emptiness, of loss, opened up in his chest on that thought. So, all this time, he had been bonding himself unconsciously to this bunch of strangers?

Were they really strangers, though? He had spent a good amount of time with them, and they were going through a rough time together, what with Dudley's gang and the uncovering of the Dursleys' treatment on him. The family had always been open to and around him, as if he was a part of them, in front of whom they did not have to wear their public masks. He had known many of their weaknesses until now, and they did nothing harmful to him so far, in the most vulnerable period of his life barring his first year as a toddler under the Dursleys' roof.

Could he make it up to them? Would he? Would they let him?

"Would you please show me to him?"

"Take a bath, then change into these. That was his order to you, I believe? He told me to relate it again to you, in case you needed a reminder."

Harry nodded numbly. He took the clothes from her and excused himself before sliding the door shut before him. The water, strangely, had not cooled off. The steam was still there, too, and the fragrance of fruits and flowers was just as strong. His mind and heart was not in the oddity now, though, so he let it go without much consideration.

Ten minutes later, he was standing on the bedroom's door, uncertain to what he should do. He was unaccustomed to proper bathing, so he had done it just as he would have when using the gardening hose – the only means of cleaning himself and his clothes permitted by his aunt and uncle –, and it had taken just as much time. The central room was empty, and so was the kitchen area. The other doors were closed, and there was no noise around whatsoever. The dining table was empty and clean, and the chairs were drawn into it, unused. Was he abandoned there – wherever that was? The notion was horrifying, and he baulked from it, just as—

"Lord." A blurted greeting escaped his lips. The glass door opposite the – locked – with the key still attached – front door had slid open, allowing a tall, lean but strong male figure to pass. Harry sketched a wobbly bow, not knowing what else to do.

"Who told you to bow to me, child?"

The Lord advanced on him. Harry backed into the bedroom and the unmade bed. He shook his head, stifling a whimper. There was nothing menacing about Lord Kensington, his eyes and instincts told him, but his mind would not budge to the idea of safety.

"I am sorry, child, for instilling the wrong impression in you so far."

Harry looked up so fast, he went off balance and fell sprawled on the bed. His eyes were two round emeralds on his thin face, radiating surprise, disbelief and confusion.

The Lord stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him gently. "We had no time to talk, and I assumed too much. It has been years since last I had to deal with boys, especially boys like you. I forgot what I had learnt."

He halted before Harry; although, judging from his twitching hands, he was not pleased with the distance at all. But Harry was thankful with his thoughtfulness, and he rewarded the man with a small wan smile. Now that even his stubborn mind acknowledge that Lord Kensington was not going to harm him, he began to relax. Besides, the Lord did not appear to be drunk.

They gazed into each other's eyes, absorbing everything and judging nothing. But there was no hostility between them, and gradually a kind of acceptance washed their souls. They had agreed to start over, to let go of their past lives as best as they could. This was only the beginning, yet they were willing to work hard to reach the goal – together.

As if to cover for lost time, afterwards they strove to be what they thought the other would call normal. The act did not linger long, though (partly due to the protests of the twins and Lady Kensington). By the time the van rolled down into a basement parking lot, the two males of the group were back to their own selves again, and inwardly grinning at their naïveté.

Harry was glad that he was once more flanked by the twins – well, and that they now acted friendly again to him, most importantly. The shopping mall was full of milling people – couples, families, teenagers, and single persons – with various intentions. The huge wall clock they had passed near the main doors showed that it was 12:30 PM in the afternoon. The crowds were beginning to thicken and would not decrease until late at night during the summer like this, or so he knew from observing the people in his neighbourhood. He was uncomfortable with the atmosphere and the seeming luxury his surroundings displayed, but put no faith in hoping that the number of people would reduce soon; it would have been an empty, foolish hope. He must endure the discomfort for however long it took the Kensingtons to stroll around, therefore, and he was resigned to it – like so many times before when he had been with the Dursleys – although for a different reason altogether.

"Ice cream, children?" Lord Kensington asked when they were about to pass a Buskin & Robins ice cream stand to the right side of the alley they were strolling through.

"George," the Lady protested.

"Just for now," he coaxed.

"You are spoiling them," she grumbled.

"No, I am not. But does it mean I can buy them ice cream?" The Lord's tone was so hopeful that Harry could picture the nobleman giving his wife a puppy-dog look while saying so. He almost burst into giggles on that image. He was not alone. The twins were shaking silently with suppressed mirth at his either side.

Come to think of it again, Harry was astonished that Lord Kensington could utter something in such tone, and he was asking his wife for permission too! Was he not the head of the family? And to think that there had been a hitch in his relation with the family – No no no. He had promised himself not to wallow in it again.

Viniele was sent to buy the ice cream when Lady Kensington finally acquiesced to her husband's plea. "Ah. I thought of going there myself," the Lord muttered, but in a voice loud enough to be heard by everyone around him.

"To what? Buy ice cream or flirt with the stand-keeper?" the Lady snorted. Harry clamped his hands on his mouth, both so that his laughter did not leak through and that he could not turn to see if the Lord blushed on the shrewd remark. They were a pair of odd noble couple, indeed.

"What flavours do you like, children?" Viniele, voice quaking with the hint of laughter, asked. "Chocolate and strawberry again, Ana? And you blueberry and vanilla, Dila?" When both girls nodded, she continued, "And what of you, harry? I don't know what flavour you like."

Harry, stunned by the question, stopped walking. He was nearly bumped from behind by Lord Kensington.

That made all in the company halte too.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Viniele asked in concern. "Don't tell me you have never had ice cream before… Or didn't you include yourself in the category of 'children'?" She was clearly joking, but Harry was serious. He nodded to both guesses.

An awkward silence ensued. Harry had braced himself for pity, but he was surprised when he got only simpathy from the girls… as though they had ever been a similar situation to his. (A subject to bring up, when and if the circumstances permitted.) The Lord was livid again, the Lady was simply incredulous, and Viniele was speechless with uncertainty.

"Umm… so what flavour do you want to try, Harry? Tutti-frutti? I can try and persuade the stand-keeper to give you a small scope of every flavour available there," the governess offered after a moment, seeming to have regained most of her bearing. "Don't blush like that and tell me I shouldn't bother," she warned when the flushing Harry opened his mouth to object. "I'd like to do it myself. I'm curious about what the result might be." She raised his eyebrows when he nodded resignedly. "As if you were surrendering to a dismal fate," she commented with a touch of exasperation in her voice. "We should fix it, eh?"

She did not wait for his answer. Upon receiving some money from Lord Kensington, she took of to the ice-cream stand. The Lady then brought her family to a jewelry store opposite it, to Ana's grumbling protest and Dila's hum of mild interest.

Harry's mind was taken from the 'ice-cream incident'. He looked at all the displays with appreciation. He had never expected that he would be interested in those expensive delicate accessories. He loved examining them one by one, matching the colour and shape of the stone with the pattern of the silver or gold it was encased or attached to. His favourite jewel was a simple braided silver-and-gold masculine necklace with a flat, round emerald hemmed by a straight line of silver as its pendant. The emerald shone as bright as his eyes did when he had a chance to look into a mirror.

Despite his great fascination with the jewels, however, he was mindful to stay as close as possible to Lord Kensington. He did not want to attract the attention of the shop-keeper more than already.

Well, the shop-keeper was one of the reasons of his sudden attention on the jewels, anyway. She, and the only other visitor to the shop beside them, had looked on him with heavy suspicion, as though suspecting him to steal when their eyes were not on him. They only averted their gazes, looking rather ashamed, when Lord Kensington noticed that Harry had lagged behind and promptly pulled him into the shop beside the man. Since then, Harry had never been far from him, and he always tried to distract himself from the stares of everyone by focusing himself on the jewels.

The reverence the two females showed the family was an alien adia to his mind, and he despised it because it brought their scrutiny down to him. He would endure it, though, just to get a chance of having a life he had always dreamt of: with loving parents, siblings, and in a mild, contented environment. The resolution, at least, lessened his discomfort, aside from the many jewels he could scrutinise with leisure. He was surprisingly reluctant when they were to leave the shop, although he tried hard not to show it before the Kensingtons and the ice-cream-bearing Viniele whom they met outside its doors.

He thanked the noble couple profusely for the ice cream, and Viniele for her effort of persuading the shop-keeper to give him a multi-flavoured one. He only began eating when they dismissed his umpteenth expression of gratitude with a reminder that his ice cream would not stay solid for long. He licked his ice cream delicately, savouring the strawberry flavour which his tongue happened on. He had returned to his former position between the twins, and was now enjoying a window shopping together with the family.

As time went by, he melted more and more into them, even beyond the level and rate he had experienced with them before. It was something which bothered him in spite of his enjoyment, yet he could not vent it in any way or distract himself from it.

The unease only fully surfaced when the Kensingtons, by help of the exceedingly-willing Viniele, start to buy him clothes and other things – which were not all categorised as necessities. They really treated him as family. Were they bribing him with those things? But what benefit would they get from it, again? Popularity? Not likely, since there were no paparazzi around and they were inconspicuous among so many other families in the mall. But then what? They bought him a whole wardrobe! It was as though they expected him to stay for a long, long time with them – or perhaps forever. How if he refused? Did he have a say in the matter?

Did he really wish to have a say in the matter? Would he not say yes anyway? Would he not be happy if he was about to be adopted into the family? They had practically been doing that to him, after all.

Yet still, a prideful little voice in his head shouted at him to reject all the attention and affection, choosing instead to wallow in his miserable fate with the Dursleys, forgetting his earlier promise to Lord Kensington and himself. The clash of the two opposite feelings in him made him angry and frustrated. As a result, he was silent and sour the whole time, answering with gestures or short sentences if asked but otherwise keeping to himself.

He did not notice how the family and Viniele exchanged looks, nor when he was led into an empty male toilet by Lord Kensington. He only snapped into attention when said Lord patted his shoulder.

"We need to talk, Harry," the Lord said. Harry was flabbergasted. There? In the toilet? What kind of aristocrat deigned to hold a conversation in a communal toilet in a shopping mall?

But this particular aristocrat might be different from the others. For one, he looked amused on Harry's incredulous look instead of offended. He would have said that the Lord was a little unhinged… if he dared.

"Harry?"

Harry's head snapped up. He crained his neck to meet the Lord's eyes. "Yes?"

"We do not require you to do anything for us in exchange for the clothes and everything else. All that we do for you are sincere. We indeed treat you as a part of our family, but we do not require you to return the sentiment. It is not unusual for us too. We are going to fetch two boys, a pair of siblings, tomorrow, and you will see how we treat him just as we treat you, although they are not our blood relations either."

There, all answered. But why did he still have questions in his mind?

Questions… or doubts?

_`"…Although they are not our blood relations either."`_

The words rang again and again in Harry's head, and oddly, it felt like his heart was pricked by something sharp each time it happened. So he was not regarded as family, after all.

Was it not the treatment he had been wanting, though? Or had he just been lying to himself about what he really wanted all this time?

But truly, the statement hurt, much, like a slap on his cheek, a blatant betrayal.

And it was harder and harder to hold his tears back. He wished the Lord would just leave him there, or they would leave the toilet and never hold such conversation again. He wanted to leave all his pain and confusion behind. He wanted…

A pair of arms encircled his scrawny frame. They tightened, pressing him to a body far bigger and stronger than his. They cradled him, while he was listening to a set of rhythmic thudding of a heart.

It was warm. It was secure. It was comfortable. It was familiar. It was what he wanted.

"I love children, Harry, and so does my wife. We have four of our own, but our eldest, a pretty lady much like her mother, perished before she could enjoy her adulthood fully. Her younger sister and brother distance themselves from us… and we have lost her youngest brother to his dream of becoming a royal mariner, a job I occupied when I was much younger… when I was his age. He fled us when he was seventeen years old, and our house stood empty until three years ago, when our beloved little girls filled it again with their voices and cheer."

The youngest must have been the boy the Lord had reminisced about so bitterly and painfully in their lodging.

`_Why does he tell me this?_` Harry, failing – at last – to hold back the tears, thought. He could see now why the couple had been so intent in treating him as family, why the Lord had had such a reaction back then when the topic had been breeched for the first time. But, alongside the realisation, he was also forced to acknowledge that he might have been acting rather selfishly, thinking only about himself and his feelings, never about others'.

He wept, and he was not the only one who did so.

Both males were each a changed person when they exited the toilet at length, more so than before. Harry was more thoughtful than sour, and Lord Kensington, whom now he secretly refered with his first name, seemed to have lost a heavy burden; a burden which existence Harry had never noticed during their small clash early in the morning.


	5. Chapter 4: Home Is Where the Heart Is

Chapter Notes:

All right. Don't kill me, people. I have failed to put the two additional characters into this chapter. The questions are – hopefully – all answered, though. The chapter is just as long as the previous one (only lacking about 100 words from Chapter 4), and, as I warned you, there are emotional scenes too here.

Enjoy! And I would greatly appreciate it if you would comment on this story…

- Rey

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 5: Home Is Where the Heart Is

Harry was glad that he was once more flanked by the twins. The shopping mall was full of milling people – couples, families, teenagers, and single persons – with various intentions. The huge wall clock they had passed near the main doors showed that it was 4:30 PM in the afternoon. The crowds were in their thickest and would not decrease until late at night during the summer like this, or so he knew from observing the people in his neighbourhood. He had put no faith in hoping that the number of people would reduce soon, therefore. He must endure the discomfort for however long it took the Kensingtons to stroll around, and he was resigned to it – like so many times before when he had been with the Dursleys – although for different reason altogether.

"Ice cream, children?" Lord Kensington asked when they were about to pass a Buskin & Robins ice cream stand to the right side of the alley they were strolling through.

"George," the lady protested.

"Just for now," he coaxed.

"You are spoiling them," she grumbled.

"No, I am not. But does it mean I can buy them ice cream?" The lord's tone was so hopeful that Harry could picture the nobleman giving his wife a puppy-dog look while saying so. He almost burst into giggles on that image. He was not alone. The twins were shaking silently with suppressed mirth at his either side.

Come to think of it again, Harry was astonished that Lord Kensington could utter something in such tone, and he was asking his wife for permission too! Was he not the head of the family?

Viniele was sent to buy the ice creams when Lady Kensington finally acquiesced to her husband's plea. "Ah. I thought of going there myself," the lord muttered.

"To what? Buy ice creams or flirt with the stand-keeper?" the lady snorted. Harry clamped his hands on his mouth, both so that his laughter did not leak through and that he could not turn around to see if the lord blushed on the shrewd remark. They were a pair of odd noble couple, indeed.

"What flavours do you like, children?" Viniele, voice quaking with the hint of laughter, asked. "Chocolate and strawberry again, Ana? And you blueberry and vanilla, Dila?" When both girls nodded, she continued, "And what of you, harry? I don't know what flavour you like."

Harry, stunned by the question, stopped walking. He was nearly bumped from behind by Lord Kensington.

That made all in the company halte too.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Viniele asked in concern. "Don't tell me you have never had ice creams before… Or you didn't include yourself in the category of 'children'?" She was clearly joking, but Harry was serious. He nodded to both guesses.

An awkward silence ensued. Harry had braced himself for pity, but he was surprised when he got only sympathy from the girls… as though they had ever been a similar situation to his. The lord was livid again, the lady was simply incredulous, and Viniele was speechless with uncertainty.

"Umm… so what flavour do you want to try, Harry? Tutti-frutti? I can try and persuade the stand-keeper to give you a small scope of every flavour available there," the governess offered after a moment, seeming to have regained most of her bearing. "Don't blush like that and tell me I shouldn't bother," she warned when the flushing Harry opened his mouth to object. "I'd like to do it myself. I'm curious about what the result might be." She raised his eyebrows when he nodded resignedly. "As if you were surrendering to a dismal fate," she commented with a touch of exasperation in her voice. "We should fix it, eh?"

She did not wait for his answer. Upon receiving some money from Lord Kensington, she took of to the ice cream stand. The lady then brought her family to a jewelery store opposite it, to Ana's grumbling protest and Dila's hum of mild interest.

Harry's mind was taken from the 'ice cream incident'. He looked at all the displays with appreciation. He had never expected that he would be interested in those expensive delicate accessories. He loved examining them one by one, matching the colour and shape of the stone with the pattern of the silver or gold it was encased or attached to. His favourite jewel was a simple braided silver-and-gold masculine necklace with a flat, round emerald hemmed by a straight line of silver as its pendant. The emerald shone as bright as his eyes did when he had a chance to look into a mirror.

Despite his great fascination with the jewels, however, he was mindful to stay as close as possible to Lord Kensington. He did not want to attract the attention of the shop-keeper more than already.

Well, the shop-keeper was one of the reasons of his sudden attention on the jewels, anyway. She, and the only other visitor to the shop beside them, had looked on him with heavy suspicion, as though suspecting him to steal when their eyes were not on him. They only averted their gazes, looking rather ashamed, when Lord Kensington noticed that Harry had lagged behind and promptly pulled him into the shop beside the man. Since then, Harry had never been far from him, and he always tried to distract himself from the stares of everyone by focusing himself on the jewels.

The reverence the two females showed was less exuberant, but it was there nonetheless. This, at least, lessened Harry's discomfort, aside from the many jewels he could scrutinise with leisure. He was surprisingly reluctant when they were to leave the shop, although he tried hard not to show it before the Kensingtons and the ice-cream-bearing Viniele whom they met outside it.

He thanked the noble couple profusely for the ice cream, and Viniele for her effort of persuading the shop-keeper to give him a multi-flavoured one. He only began eating when they dismissed his umpteenth expression of gratitude with a reminder that his ice cream would not stay solid for long. He licked his ice cream delicately, savouring the strawberry flavour which his tongue happened on. He had returned to his former position between the twins, and was now enjoying a window shopping together with the family.

As time went by, he melted more and more into them. It was something which bothered his subconscious mind in spite of his enjoyment, yet he could not vent it in any way or distract himself from it.

The unease only fully surfaced to his conscious thoughts when the Kensingtons, by help of the exceedingly-willing Viniele, start to buy him clothes and other things – which were not all categorised as necessities. They really treated him as family. Were they bribing him with those things? But what benefit would they get from it? Popularity? Not likely, since there were no paparazzi around and they were inconspicuous among so many other families in the mall. But then what? They bought him a whole wardrobe! It was as though they expected him to stay for a long, long time with them – or perhaps forever. How if he refused? Did he have a say in the matter?

Did he really wish to have a say in the matter? Would he not say yes anyway? Would he not be happy if he was about to be adopted into the family? They were practically doing that, after all.

Yet still, a prideful little voice in his head shouted at him to reject all the attention and affection, choosing instead to wallow in his miserable fate with the Dursleys. The clash of the two opposite feelings in him made him angry and frustrated. As a result, he was silent and sour the whole time, answering with gestures or short sentences if asked but otherwise keeping to himself.

He did not notice how the family and Viniele exchanged looks, nor when he was led into a male toilet by Lord Kensington. He only snapped into attention when said lord patted his shoulder. In the lord's other hand was a shopping bag.

"Change into these, Harry. I will put your old clothes and shoes away for evidence for the police," the nobleman explained upon Harry's questioning stare.

Ah yes, the police. Harry had completely forgotten about them and the events leading to their involvement. When thinking about the Dursleys, he had failed to realise that his aunt, uncle and cousin were still being interrogated in the local police station, or even jailed already.

He nodded mutely, then did as he was bidden in the nearest cubical. When he reemerged from it, the lord stowed firstly his shoes then his clothes away in the shopping bag. But they did not immediately exit the toilet, to Harry's bewilderment.

"We need to talk, Harry," the lord said. Harry was flabbergasted. There? In the toilet? What kind of noble would deign to hold a conversation in a communal toilet in a shopping mall?

But this particular noble might be different from the others. For one, he looked amused on Harry's incredulous look instead of offended. He would have said that the lord was a little unhinged… if he dared.

"Harry?"

Harry's head snapped up. He crained his neck to meet the lord's eyes. "Yes?"

"We do not require you to do anything for us in exchange for the clothes and everything else. All that we do for you are sincere. We indeed treat you as a part of our family, but it is not unusual for us. We are going to fetch two boys, a pair of siblings, after this, and you will see how we treat him just as we treat you, although they are not our family either."

There, all answered. But why did he still have questions in his mind?

Questions… or doubts?

_`"…Although they are not our family either."`_

The words rang again and again in his head, and oddly, it felt like his heart was pricked by something sharp each time it happened. So he was not regarded as family, after all.

Was it not the one he had been wanting, though? Or had he just been lying to himself about what he really wanted all this time?

But truly, the statement hurt, much.

And it was harder and harder to hold his tears back. He wished the lord would just leave him there, or they would leave the toilet and never hold such conversation again. He wanted to leave all his pain and confusion behind. He wanted…

A pair of arms, shopping-bag-free, encircled his scrawny frame. They tightened, pressing him to a body far bigger and stronger than his. They cradled him, while he was listening to a set of rhythmic thudding of a heart.

It was warm. It was secure. It was comfortable. It was familiar. It was what he wanted.

"I love children, Harry, and so does my wife. We have four of our own, but our eldest, a pretty lady much like her mother, perished before she could enjoy her adulthood fully. Her younger sister and brother distance themselves from us… and we have lost her youngest brother to his dream of becoming a royal mariner, a job I occupied when I was much younger… when I was his age. He fled us when he was seventeen years old, and our house stood empty until three years ago, when our beloved little girls filled it again with their voices and cheer."

`_Why does he tell me this?_` Harry, failing – at last – to hold his eyelids against the tears, thought. He could see now why the couple had been so intent in treating him as family, yet now he also realised that he might have been acting selfishly, thinking only about himself and his feelings.

He wept, and he was not the only one who did so.

Both males were each a changed person when they exited the toilet at length. Harry was more thoughtful than sour, and Lord Kensington, whom now he secretly refered with George, seemed to have lost a heavy burden from his shoulders; a burden which existence Harry had not noticed before.


	6. Chapter 5: A Life Not Lived Before

Chapter Notes:

All right. I said I would update if only I had finished writing one chapter ahead (or in the usual case, two). But now I am sick and the progress of my writing is very slow… I do not want to put you in a longer wait. I pray that the updating rate will not be as slow as this in the future; and by the way, I am afraid that my huge word count mode is back on, so you will get each a rather huge update. LOL I cannot decide whether it is bad or not.

Thank you very much for the reviews. They encourage me, much, and also give me ideas; some fresh and new, some eye-opening, and the others good old ones but with much conviction. There will be some changes throughout the plot I have devised… well, but it means the sequel series of this one will have to be rewritten too in time. Please keep the reviews coming with those constructive criticisms, discussion topics and motivation… I need them, sorely. Thank you very much for being there for me.

Lots of thanks too to the people who have put this story in their favourite and alert lists and their communities. I am honoured (sort of) and quite touched by you all, and I will strive to be better, although the judgement is up to you. Pardon me if I seem melodramatic here; I never meant to be so. These all are honest statements.

This chapter is huge (compared to others in this story), and later it might get just as huge, as I said. I never thought I would reach something dangerously close to 4000 words when I started writing this story, or even this chapter. Well, hopefully it will turn out good in your eyes, because this was rather hard to make too.

For this chapter, the words encased between `…` and italicised (I don't know if the italics in fact show) are not only thoughts, but also parts of a dream. I thought of using another symbol, but then I changed my mind, remembering someone's complaint about certain symbols which would not appear in his stories on the site. The scenes in the dream are rather intense although simple; I am warning you regardless of my personal view on the matter, again, so that you could enjoy your time reading without unpleasant encounters (or at least as little of it as I can manage).

This chapter is composed of several events cramped together. Please tell me if it is too rushed, choppy, or unrealistic in any way. I would greatly appreciate your constructive criticisms… or any other kind of comments, for that matter. I am afraid that it has a huge chance of turning out lame. Hopefully it is not true.

Notes on time and age: It was June 5, 1991 in the story. Harry was going to celebrate his eleventh birthday in about two months. The twins would be twelve that year, William nine and Henry seven.

Enjoy the read!

- Rey

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 6: A Life Not Lived Before

"Here we are," Viniele announced from the driver seat.

The children, Previously lost in their conversation about schooling, snapped into attention. "What?" they asked in unison.

"You forget your friends, girls?" Harriet asked. The statement was followed by a long, low "Ah" from the twins and a blank look from Harry.

It seemed that they were going to enter yet another restaurant. Viniele was parking the van on the yard of one, that was why. If Harry had labelled the previous restaurant as expensive, then he had only one word for this one: "exquisite."

No one bowed or curtsied to the family. Harry was thankful for that, although he wished those people were not looking at them all curiously like this. He forced himself to look only to the front, to the gap between the forms of George and Harriet.

He wished he could walk as gracefully as they too. Even the twins were much more graceful than he, not mentioning Viniele. He felt like a barbar in a civilised society… which perhaps the staring people thought he was.

They halted on the back of the restaurant. There, on the table on the corner, sat three people whom he had only ever seen in the television: the Heir Apparent to the British Throne and his sons.

The twins greeted the two little princes heartily, then greeted their father with each a hug. George and Harriet shook hands with Prince Charles, followed suit by Viniele. Harry dithered just outside the range of the table, uncertain about what he should do: to bow like what he had witnessed before, or to shake the prince's hand like the adults.

The prince solved the problem for him. He skirted the table and stood before Harry, extending a hand. "Charles Windsor," he introduced himself. "What is your name, child?"

Harry imitated his gesture hesitantly. "Harry Potter, Your Highness," he said in almost a whisper. He glanced up briefly, hating how he was always shorter from the others save for the twins and the sons of the prince.

There again, he caught the prince's eyes flying to his scar and widened almost imperceptibly. Dila had done it before, he remembered now, although with slightly different reaction from the prince.

"Where do you live?" the prince asked while guiding Harry to a seat beside him. "How did you meet the twins? I never knew they had a boy friend. It is an excellent news, indeed." He cast a curious stare at the Kensingtons. George scowled as though remembering something unpleasant (which it was, probably, for him), Harriet just looked sad and concerned, and the twins looked at each other in a mildly calculating manner (plotting an answer, Harry guessed).

"The girls met him while they were biking around the area of Surrey Festival," George said, responding to Prince Charles' questioning frown directed at him. "They then ran from a gang of local bullies who threw stones at them while chasing them." He glared in displeasure at Dila, intriguing the Prince of Wales even more.

In the end, the prince only shrugged noncommittally, though. "Well, let's have dinner before all," he said and stood up.

"Can I be the one asking for the menu, Dad?" Prince William, the elder of the two royal siblings, asked hopefully, his large, pleading eyes staring intently at his father. With a sigh of fond exasperation, Prince Charles seated himself again and gestured for his son to proceed with the latter's idea. His motion was met by a goofy grin from the boy, and a split second later said boy had already vanished, darting to a waiter who was actually coming to their table. He came back with a pile of menu books with a shining eager face, unaware of the amused smile the waiter sported right after he had turned his back.

Harry squirmed on his seat, remembering a similar event just some hours ago. He was still unused to selecting menu – whatever he wanted and however many the portions were – and he was afraid that this time there would be no one helping him. He did not know if George would treat him as familiarly as before, or if he would help Harry choose his dinner at all. The presence of the royal family had broken whatever confidence he had gained when he had only been with the Kensingtons, and the returning insecurity was exacerbated by the different lists of meals and drinks provided in the menu book – which just further disorientated him.

The dark thoughts were only sweft away when a pair of familiar hands guided him in opening the menu book, and a yet-more-familiar voice spoke softly into his ear about the meals provided in the list and what kind of drinks might suit them. Harry felt his stomach warming as if he had drunk a cup of hot chocolate, although in the reality he had not drunk nor eaten anything other than the tutti-frutti ice cream he had been given in the shopping mall.

Upon finishing his order, Harry found that both Prince Charles and his two sons were each giving him an odd look. He blushed furiously.

"After dinner," George promised. Harry stifled a cringe. He did not want to talk about what he had been through, ever. When his ordered menu came, he glared at it, blaming his predicament on it.

It prompted an effect he had never thought of before, in the form of little Prince Harry asking in all the innocence of young children, "Don't you like it? But you ordered it…" That elicited laughter from all over the table, including Harry. Regardless of the shame of being caught by a younger child, however, Harry was thankful of the statement, for it made him less tense and gloomy; and, surprisingly, more ready to face what he predicted as an ordeal ahead.

Viniele excused herself when they had finished their meals, saying that she needed to prepare the van (whatever it might mean, thought Harry). George started to recount the events afterwards, with the twins adding opinions – or countered them – and Harry being mostly silent. Prince William looked interested in the tale, but Prince Henry was already yawning and fidgeting, bored and sleepy.

During the retelling, Harry shuttered his emotions tightly and forbade himself from thinking about anything. In fact, he nearly missed the last of the conversation as he had dozed off, courtesy of the lack of mind activity.

"Let's go, Harry," George chuckled, laughing at Harry's sheepish look which was toned by sleepiness. "It seems that our two 'Harry's here are all quite up to go to bed early."

Hearing that, Harry tried to be more awake. He succeeded, for now. Prince Henry had no such luck, though, because he just moaned and leant heavily to Dila.

Despite his seeming wakefulness, Harry did not pay attention to what was being said. He dragged his feet behind George and Harriet after shaking hands and saying good bye to Prince Charles, firstly unaware of Prince William trailing behind him (since now Dila carried the sleeping Prince Henry in her arms). He was only 'freshened up' again when they were filing into the van; he noticed that the younger boy climbed up into the vehicle behind him. "Eh?" he murmured, baffled. The addressee just laughed.

"My brother and I are going to stay with you all for about three weeks. I would like to celebrate my birthday with you," the young prince explained patiently. They were sitting on the back seat, since the middle one are occupied by the twins, Harriet and Prince Henry – who kept slumbering despite the change of environment. Harry nodded dumbly.

They spent the first leg of the ride in a companionable silence. George, Harriet and Viniele were discussing about the schedule for the next days, while the twins were singing a popular song softly in – to Harry – a perfect syncronisation. Harry, having never been in a van before – which was different from Uncle Fernon's city car –, and riding without a swearing driver and two harassing passangers on board, took a great enjoyment in simply looking out the window and watching both vehicles and buildings pass by. The sun still shone brightly, although it was nearing its setting time, and it provided him with the necessary illumination to drink in the view of the various colours and shapes.

He had nothing to worry about. He was full. He was clad in clothing that actually was his size and shoes that were not years old. He was riding in a car with people who seemed to love him, whom he secretly loved in return. He could sleep now, if he would, even though it was still eight in the evening – if only he was not afraid that he would miss something important or interesting in that way. He was contented with those simple things, despite the intricate life of nobility and royalty he was being tangled in.

All made him wonder why he had survived so far without any complaint about his miserable life. Perhaps the proverb "One who has never possessed never lost" was true, after all.

"Harry?"

Reluctantly, Harry tore his gaze from the window. "Yes, Your Highness?"

Prince William laughed. "William is perfectly all right, Harry. Just call me Wills, if you would." He paused for a moment, then fished out something from his pouch belt. It was a small Rubik's cube, Harry saw when the item was proffered to him. "Can you solve this? Do you like puzzles? I do, but my brother doesn't."

From there, their conversation grew. Harry worked diligently on the Rubik's cube, confessing that he had played with the one owned by his cousin's when he had been smaller, but which he always avoided if Dudley was near because his cousin would most likely throw it at him out of contempt. The young prince, who by now quite insisted that he be called just William or Wills, told Harry that he loved indoor games, particularly puzzles and board games, unlike his nature-lover brother whom he said took after their father. At length, they tried to solve the cube together.

Harry was happy even though they had not been successful after an hour had passed. He could share something with someone he considered as a friend, an experience he had been dreaming of since who knew when. He cursed together with William when their umpteenth attempt failed yet again – although in small voices, so that hopefully Harriet would not hear –, and cheered with the other when the chance of solving the stubborn cube brightened.

"Let's continue it later," William grumbled when George announced that they had arrived at the motel they would be staying in for the night. He put the Rubik's cube back into his pouch belt, opened the back door, and scrambled out. Harry followed him, in time to hear him ask the twins. "Did you stay here yesterday, Ar? You told us that you lodged somewhere in Surrey so that you're nearer to the festival area. Is this the place?"

"Yup," Dila chirped. Ana was too busy teasing the half-awake little Henry, who was clinging to Dila's neck and whining in sleepy annoyance, with her fingers to bother answering. The children were all gathered by the van, while the adults were hauling out bags from the trunk and discussing. The sun was setting, its light dimming. The breeze, no longer tempered by the heat of the yellow eye, became cooler. Harry was not bothered by it, but he did a little hand and foot stretching anyway just so that he had something to do. Old habits died hard, people said, he thought wrily. If he were with the Dursley now, he would have been lugging the baggage to the motel instead of lazing around. His hands and feet itched to do so, yet he did not want to ask for fearing he would offend his hosts and hostesses.

Besides, it was not everyday that he was free from chores. Well, it had not been like that, at least. He still did not know what the Kensingtons expected of him.

Still, when it was time to bring all the baggage into the place they rented (the two-story building opposite the small parking lot, according to Dila), Harry could not help but ask if he could be of any assistance. George handed him two bulging shopping bags which contained half of the clothes they had bought earlier in the mall, but with a warning to boot: "Remember, Harry, you are not being with the Dursleys anymore. What you are doing here must come from your own free will, not any obligation to serve. We are all family and must help each other, but no one is below the others."

Harry fought to keep a blank expression void of any emotions. He was not really successful in that, it seemed, because George stared right into his eyes and frowned disapprovingly. When Harry trailed behind the twins (Ana carried a bag on one hand and linked her other hand around Dila's elbow, while Dila just carried Henry), he felt like having just fled a trap with a hungry lion in it.

It made him rather skittish. He waited in the vestibule, standing by the bags, ignoring the set of sofa which was occupied by the curling form of Henry on one corner. He did not dare to come out again, not wanting to confront George about this habit of his.

A silly thought, and an even sillier problem, the indifferent part of him accused. But nonetheless, he flinched when the person entering the front door turned out to be George Kensington, not the twins or William, or the women, for that matter.

"Why are you standing there?" the lord asked. Harry, his mouth drying, shrugged and darted to the nearest sofa. He plopped down on it, not meeting the older male's eyes. He heard a loud, exasperated sigh from somewhere around the piles of bags, but nothing else. When he dared to look up, there were only Henry and himself once again in the multifunction room.

It was not for long. Soon people and goods trickled into the vestibule, and in less than ten minutes the sofa was ladened with all the eight people present. Viniele checked all the bags and suitcases, nodded to George and Harriet, then took a place in the sofa as the last person to do so.

Harry found himself sitting beside George, again. On his other side was William, who had promptly taken the seat before everyone else and half-wrestled Dila for it afterwards. The younger boy looked pretty pleased with himself now, as if he was having an honour by sitting at Harry's side. That warmed Harry, truth be told, but he was also confused about it.

He paid no more attention to it not a while later. George was speaking.

"Children, Harriet and I will be gone early tomorrow, perhaps until the afternoon. We need to deliver something to the police for the investigation on Dudley Dursley and his gang (`_Must be my old clothes and shoes,_` Harry thought.) and check the progress of the case itself. You will stay here with Viniele. Do not bother her, and do not go out of the range of this motel. We have bought food and some other things when we were in the fair, and Viniele has done some shopping herself (Expressions of dissatisfaction from the twins and William.), so actually you should not have a cause to venture anywhere else except the playground and swimming pool."

"Yes, Dad."

"Yes, Uncle."

"Harry?" George turned his penetrating gaze at the boy beside him, who had been lost in thoughts.

"Yes, Sir," the addressee blurted in his surprise.

"Just call me Uncle George like Wills and the other Harry do," george, raising his eyebrows, said.

"We need to separate their names, Sir," Viniele piped up from the opposite end of the sofa. "It would be hard to address any of them if not. These three weeks could be more chaotic than what we have predicted if this problem were to be added to it."

"Not as bad as it seems," Dila protested. "You said that as if we were little devils, by the way, Vin." She mock-pouted.

The three adults in the room snorted, but nobody volunteered to say anything in agreement or against it. Harriet told Harry that his new clothes would be sent to a laundry in the motel in the morning, but he had to be contented with odd-smelling pajamas tonight, courtesy of the process the garment had endured in its manufacturing. Harry wanted to say that he had had worse while being with the Dursleys, yet he refrained from doing so in the last moment, remembering the fire that leapt into George's pale-blue orbs every time his neglect or abuses were mentioned.

"Take what you need. Leave the rest here," Harriet then addressed all the children. "Take a shower, then off you to bed." She ushered the protesting twins and William to the stairs at length and climbed up behind them. George, the drowsy Henry in his arms, walked beside Harry, while Viniele hung back to check on the van and lock the front door.

Afterwards, it was all a blur to Harry. He only had a vague rememberance of queuing for the turn to use one of the two bathrooms, and did not even remember when his body touched something soft and springy and fell asleep. He felt that he had been asleep the entire time, anyway.

Unfortunately, his dreamland was not so blissfully ignorant and contented.

_He was very small, wrapped in a blanket, carried by a woman tightly in her arms. Loud, frightening noises entered his ears, but close to one of his ears was the sound of the frantic thudding of a heart. He was put down when a loud, high-pitched cackle broke the sudden silence. The laughter was evil, of that he knew. He fought to get free from the blanket, and found that he had been laid on a table. Where was the person who had carried him? Why were things so big and blue?`_

Hands shook him, slapped him, pinched him, tickled him… but Harry was unable to break the nightmare he was gripped in. He moaned, distressed.

_A woman's voice, terribly-frightened, pleaded. There it was, the evil cackle again. Then a heavy thud was heard, before the ugliest and scariest face he had ever known swam into view. The monster-like person… no, a person-like monster… said something, but Harry's eyes were riveted only to his red eyes, whiteless and snake-like, with cat-like black pupils. The thing pointed the end of a stick to him, and a jet of bright, sickly green light sped towards his face accompanied by a rumbling noise. It struck his forehead, cutting it, burning it. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and screamed, which turned out as a baby's howl.`_

Someone had carried him away, but now he was once again lying on a mattress under a quilt. The only difference now was the two people hugging him, blanketing him with living warmth, comfort, and a sense of security. They squeezed him briefly when he screamed, and a powerful mind slammed into his, waking him up partially, before the nightmare could continue or changed into another dream of a similar nature.

"You are safe, Harry. You are here with us. You are safe."

"I will guide your dreams, Harry. Relax and open your mind to me. Trust me, Harry. I shall never harm you."

Harry drew a shaky breath and, too tired and shaken to care about where he was or who were lying at his sides, turned to the female voice and snuggled to her. Feeling more or less comfortable, he let himself succumb to unconsciousness once again, trusting the male voice to fulfil his promise.

When he awoke the next morning, Harry had lost account of what had happened. He was woken up by a biological alarm and found himself alone in a king-sized bed. Curiously, the places beside him seemed to have been occupied by more than one person.

It was when he started to remember the night before.

Feeling suddenly restless and trapped, he freed himself from the covers and jumped out of the bed to the cool cream ceramic floor. Without looking around him in detail, he strode towards the door and opened it a crack, peaking outside.

Viniele was bowing over the tea table in the sitting-room (to which all doors in the second level led), writing something on a sheet of lined paper. "Good morning, Harry. Come out, if you feel like starting your day," she said, not missing a bit in her writing and not even glancing up to where he was standing. Sheepishly, Harry opened the door wider and slipped outside.

"Good morning, Miss Viniele. Are the others not awake yet?" he asked the governess timidly while padding over to her. Viniele shook her head.

"They usually sleep off the morning after an eventful day like yesterday." The woman patted a seat beside her on the sofa. "Have a seat, Harry. Or are you going to the bathroom? By the way, please don't call me that. Viniele or even Vin is quite enough for me."

"Bathroom first… and sorry for that." Harry smiled apologetically at her before darting off to said room. He was not used to being greeted kindly upon waking up, and certainly not to being invited to sit and laze around afterwards too. He needed a time to compose himself so that he could face this shift in his life in hopefully a more-prepared state.

He offered to make breakfast when he came back to the sitting-room, thinking that in this way he would still have a semblance of normalcy among all the changes happening to and around him. His stomach dropped with disappointment when Viniele shook her head, saying that they had to wait for the other children and made the meal together, since it was their custom when they were united under the Kensingtons' care. However, when the event did occur, what ran in Harry's mind was the thought that he would have gladly accepted the idea if only he had known how fun it would be.

Well, yes, fun, but also chaotic. The kitchen, set on the back of the building on the first level, was a great deal messier when the five of them – excluding Viniele – finished putting together their breakfast for the day. There had only been little Viniele could do to prevent Henry from playing with the eggs he should have been beating, Ana from stealing – every so often – a taste of the pancake mixture she had assigned herself to make, William from a row with his younger brother about playing with food, Dila's expressed irritation on everyone, and Harry's clumsiness due to his splitted attention (saving the nearly-burnt bacon and trying to separate the grappling brothers at once, for example), added with his unease of being among so many people who were friendly to him. In the end the breakfast was eaten with a good cheer, though, and the exasperated Viniele granted them a favour by cleaning the kitchen herself – something she rarely did, according to the gleeful Ana.

`_Are these messes and noises something that I've missed in life so far?_` Harry mused, a small smile turning up his lips, as he was ambling beside Dila across the sitting-room on the second level, aiming for the bedroom they – excluding Harry – had occupied during the night. `_Yes, and the laughter too, and the hugs, the good-morning kisses, the chance to share, the chats, the games, the love, the attention…_`

He felt like a poor person who was suddenly rich. The deep feeling of contentment created a bubble of warmth in his chest and stomach and a kind of shield around his mind, and now he also felt safe and secure.


	7. Chapter 6: Kensington Manour

Chapter Notes:

Please pardon me if the chapter seems lame, flat, or disjointed. I did my best, particularly with the second part (which I spent 3 days in writing and a few painstaking revisions, believe it or not). I hope you will like it. Please tell me if my guess is correct; no worry, I am not considering such comments as flames (as long as you keep it clean of any insults).

This chapter is indeed divided into two parts. The first part occurs several days after the last chapter, and the second one leaps yet more days from the first. In the next chapter, we will see glimpses about Petunia, Vernon, and Dudley as they were dealing with the law and the law enforcement people (as wished by one of the reviewers). We will also see how Harry acted on what he experienced in this chapter there, and some more titbits about the Kensingtons.

But for now, enjoy!

- Rey

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 7: Kensington Manour

The ringing noise resounded slightly in the spacious room. Harry blinked, rubbed his eyes, and rolled over. He sat up, crawled across the large bed, then fumbled on the nightstand to its left for the alarm clock. Next, when the ringing sound had ceased to bother his ears, his sleep-warm fingers went in search of his new, tape-free glasses, bought for him by the Kensingtons some days ago.

He could not believe that it had been several days. It felt like it had only been yesterday, always. The events that day were still etched vividly in his mind, regardless of whatever he had done to get rid of them. They were not thoroughly unpleasant, but they were all life-changing, and it overwhelmed him.

His glasses perched safely on his nose, he began to look around the bedroom. He had been sleeping there for four nights now, and he was still unused to how large or well-equipped and well-cared it was. For someone who had been living in a small, dark, dingy, spider-invested cupboard, the prospect of sleeping there had been rather daunting at first. Thankfully, he did not stay there for long everyday, and oftentimes he was too tired when he returned to care about anything else except the invitation of his comfy bed. He had been attached to the soft, lavished mattress and all its paraphenalia rather quickly, to his own surprise. If he were to return to living in his cupboard now, he was sure he would have trouble sleeping.

The twins went back to their routine after their sojourn in Surrey; that is (surprisingly), lessons taught by Viniele and some other private tutors, with some time to play slipped in between. William and Henry joined in all the lessons and play times, giving Harry the idea that they had been spending summers together ever since the twins had come into the noble couple's life. Not having anything else to do, Harry chose to also participate, thinking that now he could finally tame his thirst of books and knowledge.

Some of the lessons seemed to be meant for children of royal or noble lineage, yet he tried his best to ignore that fact and just soldiered on. The lessons were not all about theories, though; those belonging to the practical field were, for examples, the music and vocal lessons (which Harry was always nervous about), the defense practice (which he secretly loved), and swimming (which strokes he surprisingly excelled after a few tries). When they played, it was mostly outdoors, in the large yards around the manour.

Yes, a manour, despite the Kensington couple's insistence to call it a house. It was simply too large and grand to be a house, although it did lent a sense of home to its occupants. Harry had not explored every nook and cranny of it – he did not dare to, anyway –, and neither had he seen the estate the family owned, which was said to surround the manour. Harry had been asleep during the ride to the manour, and so he missed seeing a part of the estate as they passed through it.

Today, though, the Kensington couple had promised all the children to tour around the estate (Harry still had to acquaint himself with being included in the number, because the Dursleys had always counted him as nonexistent whenever possible), and Harry looked forward to it despite the fact that they would do it on horseback. Even after four days of constant exercise with a placid gelding, he had not been able to control the horse well, lest to do some dressage movements like the twins on their noble-looking steeds, and it was his only fear on the impending tour.

`_Perhaps they'd come up with something for me when they proposed that? They've known about my horse-riding skill, after all._`

It was a fragile hope, and Harry was not comfortable with it. He had no other option, all the same, so, for now, he had to let himself depend heavily on others and pure luck.

It was the drawback of his building confidence and skills, he mused as he took a shower in the em-suite bathroom on one corner of his bedroom. He had had no qualms being dependent on the Dursleys, taking their demeaning attitude towards him in bland acceptance. Now, though, if he were to live with the Dursleys again, he would likely have fled them to instead live in the streets. He would not be able to accept a belittling attitude towards him without some defense or challenge. Living with the Kensingtons and the two royal princes had slowly molded him into a new being who was more confident, learnt and independent than the old Harry. It seemed as if he had left his old self behind in Privet Drive Number 4.

Well, he would never return to that house ever again, it seemed, for three days ago George, on returning from the police station in Little Winging, informed him (with a wrathful expression on his face) that his uncle had declared that "the freakish, ungrateful boy" would never be granted entry again into his house under any circumstance. Harry had been living with the Kensingtons since then, and secretly hoped to do so until he was of age.

Humming a song to himself, he put on his riding suit, selected a hat from the pile of it the Kensington couple had bought him, and strode outside the bedroom after making sure that he had turned off the electricity there. He had been lectured about the danger of electrical power surge and the bad habit of wasting energy by Harriet once, two days ago, in her daily checking of his rooms. Suffice to say, he did not want to displease her ever again; not wanting to listen to her fretting about the mistake, and wishing to impress her – the latter being the product of his subconscious thought.

"…There's another place for you and me in paradise – Hey. What are you doing there?"

William and Henry were standing outside his door, hand in hand. They appeared to have been waiting there for some time.

"Waiting for you, of course," Henry answered immediately. "What else?" He shrugged off his older brother's reproving glare and tugged at Harry's hand, simultaneously releasing his grip on William's. "Come on. The twins are saddling the horses. Uncle George said you have to saddle your own." He dragged Harry down the corridor, past the twins' bedroom, the brothers', the Kensington couple's, and finally to a flight of stairs which brought them near one of the side doors.

"I haven't eaten anything," Harry protested half-heartedly. It was not a problem for him, since he had been used to be starved in Privet Drive Number 4, but he had learnt to eat three meals a day so that he would worry nobody.

"Aunt Harriet has packed you some sandwiches and a bottle of water. We can ask for milk in the milk factory later if you want," Henry chirped. "We'll pass the strawberry fields first, so you can eat some as your dessert there too."

"Little bro, it isn't polite to drag anyone," William, laughter in his voice, piped up at length. Harry exhaled silently. Even though Henry was smaller than he, he had a hard time keeping pace with the bundle of energy. The seven-year-old uttered a short whine, but he stopped dragging Harry, although he did not let go of the other's hand. That was when William quickened his pace and walked in line with the two. He grinned widely on Harry's grateful wink.

After that, Harry had no more time for vrivolity. He was busy saddling the gelding and maintaining a firm seat on the saddle itself, in spite of the generous help the others in the company lent him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day after William and Henry had gone back home was strangely silent. The lessons – gymnastics, the ever-present swimming and horse-riding, mathematics, and manners – seemed blander and less appealing. It was exacerbated by the fact that Harry took the lesson of manners alone, whereas the energetic, chirpy Henry had accompanied him before.

On second thought, this sense of loneliness probably also had something to do with the celebration of William's ninth birthday yesterday; it was much different from today's lack of interesting activities or the spirit to realise it. It had been a day full of activities and merriment, and the royal siblings had been both asleep when their father brought them home late yesterday night. They had begun the day with a morning jogging around the yards of the manour, as usual, yet then they had also made their breakfast together, not letting the servants do the job for once. Harry's favourite activity that day was when they had gone to a water park some miles from the estate, directly after breakfast until just after lunch time. The children had been too tired to do anything afterwards, and so they contented themselves with lounging in the family-room while the adults were away doing something they did not care about, watching William open his birthday presents – which had been all sent to the manour on prior notice. Harry could not forget how the younger boy's face had lit up with sincere joy and instant possessiveness upon coming to his present, which was a drawing he had made of the five of them unified in a cozy room but with each doing their own favourite activities.

Today, unlike so many days before, it was raining heavily too. Neither of the children could sneak out to play under the rain, and to Harry (agreed whole-heartedly by the twins), there were only so many things they could do indoors which would occupy them for a long span of time. As a result, they huddled in a rather gloomy atmosphere after their respective lessons for the day had been ended in the back porch – ore more precisely, a section of it which contained two porch swings and some cozy couches plus a low tea table.

It was four in the afternoon, but the sky, or at least the part of it which was visible over the ceiling of the porch roof, was much darker than it should be in such hour in early summer. The rain poured down in thick rivulets, drumming on the roof with a continuous harsh noise and pelting the grassy earth just as relentlessly. Dila was sketching in her ever-present drawing tablet with a pencil on the tea table, Ana was listening to an audiobook through a pair of headphones connected to her pocket tape while swinging gently in one of the porch swings, and Harry was pacing back and forth restlessly on the slippery marbel floor perilously near to the drenched lawn beyond the porch. Harriet joined the children a while later, followed by a grim-looking George.

Harry noticed the frazzled look on the couple before anyone else, yet he was uncertain about how to address them about it, or if he should talk about it at all. Such concern belonged to kin and close friends, right? He was not either… right?

But the couple must have perceived something from just his stare, because they nodded at him, as if affirming that they were not in a good mood, that there was a problem plaguing their minds.

Oddly, they did not ask him to take a seat, unlike in previous events similar to this, and they did not greet anyone either, just seating themselves heavily in each a couch. They appeared distracted, thoughtful.

So intent was Harry in watching them, he did not see a large leaf blown to the floor by a sudden gust of wind together with a generous amount of water, to his path. His foot stepped on it and he toppled to the hard, smoothe, water-coated surface of the marble tiles. His heart froze when he found out that he was actually hovering an inch from the floor. In this way, he was free from the danger of concussion, but…

He rose slowly to a crouching position and regarded the couple with wide, terrified eyes. He had grown attached to them despite his unwillingness to open his heart for anyone, but now he would lose them because of what he had performed. Perhaps they would send him to an orphanage now? Or perhaps even to an asylum, as Uncle Vernon had often threatened to send him to?

There. Harriet looked shocked. George seemed unperturbed, though… but he beckoned Harry to him.

Harry gulped. `_A spanking?_` he thought uneasily. After all, Uncle Vernon had never hesitated to inflict that kind of punishment on him.

Feeling strangely pained and daunted by the prospect, he walked up to George, resigned with his fate. He stopped short in his track, though, when the lord patted the space beside him (seeing that he was sitting on one end of a longer couch than where his wife seated herself in) and said quietly, "Sit with me, Harry."

`_Sit with him?_`

Harry, bewildered but still apprehensive and distressed, obeyed nonetheless. He only relaxed a bit when Harriet shook off her stupor and sidled quickly across the space before her husband, fussing over him, fearing for injuries. He would not be punished, if her treatment towards him was of any indication.

"Let go of him, my beloved. You are just making him more terrified," George chuckled softly. "There. Just sit by his side if you would. Perhaps then he can't escape to continue his scating anymore." He smiled at Harry, his eyes shining with mirth.

On that last prove that he would not be punished, Harry was assaulted by many kinds of feeling, which some of them were opposite to each other. He was curious about the couple's unflappability in regard to magic, apprehensive about the big news that George seemed about to deliver to his ears only (since the man appeared disinclined to include his daughters in the conversation, for once), and he both hated and loved his current position: flanked by the couple; he hated it because it made him uncomfortable, but he loved it because it lent him a sense of belonging, as if they were his parents. They could never be his parents… could they?

"Harry?"

"Yes?" He mentally shook himself from the battle of his emotions. George was addressing him, and he had just noticed that Harriet had an arm around his shoulders, encompassing him in a loose motherly embrace. He tried not to squirm, therefore announcing his discomfort of the gesture. Harriet did not mean to inflict inconvenience on him, he knew… but he simply could not make himself used to such display of affection – at least not yet.

Harriet's support proved its worth to him, all the same, when George handed him a manila folder. Harry's eyes widened considerably when he opened it and gazed into the paper positioned on the top of the pile in the folder. His body sagged heavily into the generous padding of the sofa, his bright green orbs fixed on the line of words which seemed to glare challengingly at him from the upmost part of the paper, under the official title that signified the paper as someone's birth act. "Name: Harlend James Potter," it was written there, and Harry could not avert his stare from it. So engrossed was he that he was not aware that Harriet had maneuvered him slightly. Now Harry was leaning to her front, sitting almost sidewise in the long couch with her arms encircling his midriff.

"W-what is this?" he croaked at length. With an effort, he lowered the folder down and stared right into George's eyes pleadingly, imploringly.

"I retrieved it from Privet Drive Number 4 alongside all the things which belong to you," the man answered steadily. "There were many items and facts concealed by Petunia Dursley about her own sister and you." The statement hit Harry hard. He thought he had realised that his aunt had hidden much from him and had been prepared for it; he had not expected to be affected this greatly by what he viewed as her betrayal to him.

"You are the son of James Potter and Lily Evans," George continued. Then, in a much quieter voice and a sorrowful expression in his eyes, he continued, "They died to save you. Your relatives told you that your parents died in a carcrash, did they not?" On Harry's mute nod, he stated in the same quiet voice, "They were killed by a powerful, mad man who named himself Lord Voldemort."

Harry's mouth went dry. His heart squeezed. `_Killed. They were killed. A mad man did it._` He veered his eyes to the folder sitting in his lap.

"Those are your legal documents, Harry, and the copy of your parents' will I got from Gringotts."

"W-what is Gringotts?" against his better judgement, Harry asked. He felt that he could not take any more surprises, yet he knew that there was a missing piece that George had not told him about.

Unlike his aunt, George did divulge the information. Harry wished the man would have held the piece longer, though.

"Gringotts is a bank run by goblins, Harry. It is for people in the magical world, like you and me."

`_Like you and me._`

Harry looked intently into the pale eyes of the man, doe-eyed.

"It was I who prevented you from banging your head on the floor. With practice, you will be able to do so yourself."

Harry wished he could be as calm as the lord. His mind was reeling from all the information, and he could not even open his mouth to utter anything. He was in a daze; his brain was overloaded. He just barely noticed George lifting him into the man's arms, carrying him as though he were a baby. The man bent down, possibly to kiss his wife's cheek, then he walked away.

Hours later, Harry still lay in his bed, staring unseeingly at its canopy, not moving even an inch from the position in which George had laid him. He did not know what time it was now, and he partially did not want to know anyway. The shock had not worn off.

He had an identity, after nearly ten years of being just "boy" or "freak." He knew his parents now and why he had ended up on the doorstep of Privet Drive Number 4, and the reason why he had been a freak in his relatives' eyes. Most importantly, however, now he knew that he was not alone in being a "freak." The lord whom he admired, whom he had seen as a father figure since the day they had met, was also magical – and proud of it too.

On the thought of George, a small smile brushed his lips. The smile came again, wider and steadier, when he realised that, in extention, he also had Harriet, the twins, and the two jovial young princes. `_I have a family_,` he thought, although it barely registered in his fogged mind.

When some time more had passed, Harry rose slowly from his bed and looked around. His mind had cleared somewhat, although it had not returned to normal. He was in his bedroom, seeing from the light-blue décor of it and his personal items littering the desk and rugs.

There was something which had not been there before, he noticed when he swept his gaze around the room for the second time. A sheet of paper lay on his right nightstand. It contained a picture, seemingly sketched by pencil over the white expanse. The paper itself seemed to be generated from the giant of a drawing tablet owned by Dila.

And the picture was that of him, or what looked like him. He could not recognise the boy as himself, despite the striking facial similarities to what he knew of himself. For one, the boy in the picture exuded grace and confidence, made more prominent by the feel of vexation he seemed to emit.

But the background and the face…

And there was a writing too, in a firm, bold script, under the frame formed by pencil lines. "Dear One."

Harry could no longer deny himself. He was changed, whether he liked it or not, and the changes were not always bad, as shown in those two words written in a very conspicuous manner. The words emboldened him too, somehow, and the confidence the Harry in the picture felt and emanated began to seep bit by bit into this Harry who was sitting on the edge of his bed alone. But there was a difference between the two persons of the same being: this Harry had passed the toughest of the changes and his confidence had been tried, but that condition convinced him not to shirk from the changes and instead use them to their full potentials.

The Harry who went out from his bedroom afterwards was indeed a changed young man.


	8. Chapter 7: Fitting the Pieces Together

Chapter Notes:

I did not mean to put it literally, but here it is. Each section contains a different point of view, and you must piece it together yourself. I apologise for one of the reviewers to whom I promised to write some scenes with the police; I can't fulfil it, somehow. Well, there is not enough room here, anyway. Some things are only brushed in passing for the same reason (and the other is because I wrote this mostly when I was on the peak of my dratted flu). Please tell me if I lack information or detail in some scenes or points; I will try to fix it. Thank you for accompanying me so far, although (I am aware of the fact) this story is not as good as some out there. Your criticisms, comments and suggestions, as usual, will be highly appreciated.

Enjoy the long read! ;)

- Rey

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 8: Fitting the Pieces Together

Petunia Dursley, née Evans, stared out of the barred window of the prison van to the family of five – or so it seemed – who were slowly approaching the court building. Her eyes were especially fixed on the only boy in the group, whose bright-green eyes were flicking back and forth between the two identical-looking girls at his either side as he was raking his unruly pitch-black hair, seemingly out of nervousness. The boy was outfitted in neat, expensive-looking creamy-grey trousers, white polo shirt, and a pair of new, shiny black shoes; a promising, intelligent, sophisticated and healthy young teenager overall.

She could not – no, she would not – believe that the boy was her nephew, Harry Potter, the son of her sister and James Potter – one of those freaks Lily had befriended. The thin face (the face of a wicked criminal, in her opinion) was rounder… and handsome too, she was forced to admit to herself. The scrawny pushover was gone, replaced by a totally-different child, one that she had been wishing her dear Dudley would become.

Why did the ungrateful little brat get those things, be that way, instead of her ickle Duddykins who deserved them more?

Why had Lily been accepted to Hogwarts but not she, the elder of the twins?

Why had everything turned back on her? Had she been cursed with all the misfortunes thinkable? First Lily had been accepted to that school, then her parents had fawned over her, forgetting that they had another child, then they had been killed by some minions of the same mad freak who later killed Lily, then Harry had been dumped on her doorstep after a few years of bliss without her freakish sister and her lot… and now…

Petunia gulped. If what she and Vernon had received while being questioned and detained in the police station could be of any indication, then none of them would receive total mmercy from the judge despite their best effort to defend themselves and how much they paid their lawyer to do the same for them. Only now she learnt that most noble titles in her society were not only so that the people bearing those titles appeared flashy. She had learnt that a long time ago, when she and Lily had been homeschooled by their parents, yet she had forgotten it during her lone years in a primary school near their house. She had been treating the royal family and the nobles just like any other celebrities since then. She wished she had not. Heartfelt loyalty was something hard – or even impossible – to break, and that was what people from various ranks and occupations had been showing towards Lord Kensington and, in extention, his family. She was not afraid of the sense of justice possessed by the law enforcement people dealing with her case, since they had been showing it to her all this time (although she was still terribly scared about the punishment awaiting her), but her worth in their eyes, and subsequently the general society, must have declined considerably because of what her precious son had done… or had been accused of doing… to those little noble ladies and her nephew.

Little prats.

She hated those children who were strolling gracefully, as though they owned the world, proceeding the lord and lady whom she had admired before in the gossip programmes. Now she hated the noble couple also, and Vernon, and Dudley, and herself, and the world. She hated everything which had been, and which were going on, but she most despised the prospect of several years of imprisonment. All because of her nephew!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vernon dursley sat straight in the tough defendant chair he had been herded to by the policemen. If he were a cat, his fur must have been bristling now. Indeed, he was fairly indignant about his turn of fate. Since when had the law intruded upon the private lives of its subjects? He had done no wrong in educating his – no, Petunia's – nephew! He and Petunia had agreed on the day they had taken in the boy that they would beat the freakishness out of that little brat, for the sake of the boy himself, and now what had they gotten? They were about to be jailed!

And there was the second court he would have to attend, about – the accusation of – his corruption on Grunnings monetary record. He deserved a rise in his payment – and the board of directors had never approved that! He bet they had also been asking the accounting department to balloon their paychecks and shady expenses surreptitiously. Disgusting snakes, they were. He swore he would find a way to make them feel what he was feeling now, humiliated in front of the face of public (he could feel eyes boring into the back of his head, and he half-heartedly thanked the arrangement which made him face the judge instead of the visitors), and a jail to boot.

His wife was sent to sit beside him not a while later, but none of them was willing to open a conversation with each other. And soon, speaking was forbidden anyway by the court protocol.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry never stopped fidgeting on the bench during the trial. No one from his new family stopped him now, oddly, unlike when they were alone, far from the eyes of the public.

Yes, his new family (or at least his new guardians, since he did not want to presume too much, only for his hope to be dashed). Lord and Lady Kensington had agreed to take guardianship of him from his aunt and uncle; they had said so to the judge who had arranged a meeting with them – and the children – yesterday. The judge, a strict but kind and fair middle-aged man named Howard Kingstone, had also informed them that the trial for the Dursleys which had an effect on Harry and Dudley (meaning not Vernon's trial about his own crime while being the director of Grunnings) would be held as efficiently as possible; "In hope that it will not have a great impact on the children," he had said. Harry was thankful for that, and secretly agreed with him.

After the first session of the trial had been ended, to be continued three days from now, he went out of the courtroom in silence. He talked to no one and looked only ahead. Neither his aunt nor his uncle had looked to behind them when they had exited the courtroom, and it was a great relief for him, since he and the Kensingtons had seated themselves on the front bench, clearly visible. He did not want to see their leering, contemptuous faces anymore. That would have hurt him, as a small part in his soul still retained a faint hope that someday they might grow to love him.

Needless to say, he did not look forward to the rest two sessions of the trial, scheduled each in the span of three days.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The trial of Vernon and Petunia Dursley was both a common and unique one to general consensus. Press could not easily access the courtroom in which the trial was held, though; the journalists who attended it were numbered and strictly-selected. Moreover, accessing detailed information about the people involved in it as well as the case was nearly impossible, and there was not a single press conference to help them in that.

Edward Sharington was one of the few journalists permitted to attend the sessions of the trial, but of course with the help of his big boss in BBC who had persuaded Lord Kensington into permitting him. He loved being in a unique place or situation, therefore his specialisation in tourism and warfare journalism. Now was no different, although he had never entered this field – law – before, and his lenient boss, who had been getting a steady supply of good stuff to fill many programmes with anyway from him, had agreed quite readily to indulge this quirk of his without demanding anything. He had even offered to give Edward a fake assignment so that he would get an easy access to their monetary and gadget departments, but the twenty-five-year-old journalist had declined, saying that it could be viewed as a form of corruption and his boss (whom he was quite fond of) could be in trouble for that.

His work on this new target was industrious, although he had little to no hope of ever publishing any news or article about it anywhere. He had made quite a lot of notes concerning the proceedings of the trial, the opinions of people about it, and, most importantly to him, the reactions of the Kensingtons to all of the aforementioned aspects. Until now, though, he was yet to spend the allotted ten camera shots he had. He was waiting for the right time.

The second session, hotter than the prior one given the more intense arguments and emotions, was about to be concluded. The Dursley couple, the defendants, were less and less confident about themselves (and perhaps about their righteousness too, thought Edward). Unfortunately, Harlend Potter, the subject and object of the trial itself, showed degradation of a similar nature. The boy, who had been under the care of the Kensingtons for some time now according to Howard Kingstone, the judge heading the boy's relatives' trial, Looked gloomy and rather distressed. Edward, sitting directly behind him, sensed the conflicting feeling of kinship ties and justice warring in the youth's mind.

That pained him. One so young should never experience such feelings. Nobody should have fate any similar to his, as he wished. Nobody should choose between family and some other thing, because it would tear whoever the person was, however strong he or she was. He knew, as it was his own experience, his dark secret.

He vowed to himself to at least try to provide the boy with a better experience. He would do almost anything to ensure that the Dursleys, neither the parents nor the son, would ever harm the boy again.

The first chance presented itself just after the session had ended. While Petunia Dursley walked on, Vernon Dursley turned around briefly and therefore faced the visitors. His small dark eyes eyes roamed the room at large, then landed on the occupants of the front-most row. There his curiosity-tempered contemptuous gaze was replaced by open, utter loathing. So intense was his emotion that silence fell in the room and visitors stared at him in surprise.

The clicking sound of a camera broke it almost instantly.

The large head of Vernon Dursley snapped up to the source of the small noise. Two sets of eyes met, one dark brown and small in size while the other deep blue and currently narrowed in dark glee. Buzzing murmurs sounded in every corner of the courtroom, and many dark, distasteful stares were directed at the bulky man towering before the calmly-sitting young journalist.

Not a minute later, two policemen came and ushered Vernon Dursley away. Edward relaxed and stood up swiftly with a small smile directed to himself. He touched the shoulder of Harlend Potter lightly, then exited the courtroom without looking back.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It could not be measured, who was happier when the trial ended – with Vernon being assigned ten years of imprisonment, Petunia seven years, Dudley being assigned to the children foster care for the duration of Petunia's incarceration, and Harry's guardianship being formally given to the Kensingtons for the same duration of time. But certainly, no one came up from the courtroom emotionally unimpacted by the outcome.

George Kensington walked out from said courtroom with a thoughtful look on his face. He did not let himself immerse too deep within his thoughts (He never did, in case a need to protect his family suddenly arose.), but now his full attention was not on his surroundings, unlike his usual custom. He ambled behind his twin daughters and Harry, absent-mindedly watching them walk in mute. Once home, he thought, he would have to come up with something to cheer his family up. He did not know that Harriet was thinking about the same plan.

None of the two thought more about immediate-future 'plots', however, when they neared the van they had been using to transport themselves from the motel they had been staying in for the duration of the trial. A large boy with blond hair and small blue eyes was fighting against some social workers nearby the vehicle, flinging curses and profanities at them at the same time, and the boy's insulting – stupid – stare was fixed on the light-greyish-blue-died family car.

"What is going on?" Dila asked the social workers apprehensively. George stifled a smile. She always showed signs of a good candidate for the headship of their House without even meaning to.

A nervous-looking man in the same uniform as the social workers stepped around his colleagues. He bowed awkwardly to the family, not managing to hide a grimace of pain (Perhaps one or two bruises to the stomach or side, George thought with a measure of morbid fascination.) while doing so, and addressed Dila after he had gotten a nod of permission from George. "That boy, Dudley Dursley, said that he wanted to see his cousin for the last time, so we allowed him to wait here. But then he tried to strike the van and struggled when we ushered him away. He has been like this since the judge proclaimed the verdict." He stared anxiously back and forth between the Kensingtons and the wailing Dudley, who looked like a maddened boar with something lodged in its windpipe.

Unease fluttered in George's stomach upon hearing the word "verdict." The muscles of his lungs gave a tiny squeeze on themselves.

When his eyes clashed stares with those of the boy, the squeeze tightened considerably, and his heart froze alongside the rest of his claustrophobic chest.

The malice in the boy's visage was apparent, yet there was something else that he had thought he would have never seen in it: innocence. There was a portion of it left underneath that hideous mask – which appeared more gruesome, put on a child's complexion like this.

Dudley Dursley still had a hope of recovery. But how to utilise it so that it became a reality?

The paternal instinct in him rose to the fore of his mind. All the same, he was slower than his wife in responding to it. In short, Harriet had asked for a contact number to the man who had answered Dila's question beforehand, and the gleam in her deep-green orbs promised a great change in someone's life.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry fingered the edges of his jet plane's wings thoughtfully; the plane's remote control nestled precariously on his left knee. He was sitting alone in the back porch of the other manour the Kensingtons owned (the magical one, as they put it – aptly so). The other family members were spread in the vicinity of the warded area, perhaps lounging.

No. It should not be "family members" but "the guardians and their children"… should it?

Harry pursed his lips. His thoughts had often strayed to his status after the trial. There was an unexplainable thirst in him which always begged to be sated: familial bond. He envied the twins for having been blood-adopted by the Kensington couple. Until now, he could not work out the courage to ask for the same treatment to the couple, and he was yet uncertain about the prospect of having his original personality and appearance changed drastically. (How not? The twins had just confessed to him some three days ago that they had originally not been a pair of twins at all!)The twins had had no qualms about it, unlike him, since not even the best magical devise available could track their lineages down.

How if he lost his eye colour? He had no particular affinity to his messy black hair, but he loved his eyes very much – and it appeared that the souls closest to him had similar opinions to him about this.

How if—

"Harry?"

The remote control fell clattering to the floor. The jet plane miniature would have met the same end had a pair of slim hands not caught it midway.

"Sorry."

It was Dila, and nestled in her left arm, pressed close to her side, was another set of remote jet plane miniature.

"I thought you might want some company." She took a seat beside him in the long sofa, then proceeded to stare at him, her head slightly cocked to the side. "Ana is writing the entry for the current short-story competition, but she told me you might need some things answered." She smiled wrily at his flabbergasted expression. "She is very perceptive. Nothing can fool her 'mind eyes', not even the best mental barriers Dad puts up around himself."

Ah yes. Mental – or mind – barriers. As soon as Harry had been introduced to magic and to his own heritage, he had been quickly assigned to learn and practise several things, namely: blocking his mind from intruders, shifting things and liquid, summoning things and liquid, and warding charms. Those four elements, Viniele had said and been agreed by George, were primary defenses he had to learn in order to give him the least of chances against those who wished him harm. He was also to learn Gobbledegook so that his future businesses with the goblins could run well.

But that section of memory came not only with his current knowledge about utilising resources for his defenses. It was in a 'package' with the history and analysis of events leading up to his being dumped on the doorstep of Privet Drive Number 4 almost ten years ago.

Remembering how and by whom his biological parents had been murdered made him grimace. The fame he had attained ever since still sounded ridiculous to him, even though more than a month had passed from the revelation of it.

"I was just remembering about how those people thought me a hero," he said carefully, explaining to the frowning Dila. "I still feel it ridiculous. They make me afraid too. What do they expect from me? How if I can't meet their expectations." At least it was not far from the full truth. He was not telling a lie, only a half-truth, as dictated in the small handbook of family rules he had 'stumbled upon' in the library some days ago.

"They can mope around and leave you alone," Dila offered, a smirk in her voice. Harry, who had turned away, returned his gaze to her, filled with incredulity. But then he laughed, and she joined him. It appeared that she did not detect the portion of lie in his statement… or perhaps she ignored it. She had only asked him to spill his questions to her, after all; she had not required how many.

"Good idea, sis," he chuckled.

Sister?

"Uh umm I'm—"

"Nonono, 'tis all right, Harry. We have considered you our family since you came into our lives, anyway."

An odd glimmer in her eyes.

She was hiding a secret from him; that was the sign he had slowly been getting accustomed to. That notion itched Harry to no end.

"My presence change everything, doesn't it?" he murmured to the toy perched in his lap. He snapped his head up and around to his side upon Dila's confession:

"Ana foretold that there would be many sharp changes happening to us when someone in need of a family became a part of this little cluster of people. No, don't worry, Harry, it was only a warning for us to prepare. Wipe that look from your face or Ana will flay me alive when she gets wind of this. She has forbidden me – rather vehemently, I say – from telling this to anyone."

A short titter erupted from Harry's mouth. Once again he looked away, his cheeks coloured pink.

Dila rose slowly from her seat and paced on that section of the porch, seeming to be in a deep thought. Then she spoke with a strange tone torn between sadness, caution, and a sundry other emotions: "I am curious… sort of… about what might happen if your fame is blended with our notoriety."

"Notoriaty?" Harry repeated, disbelieving. Dila nodded curtly.

"Among the purebloods, especially those of ancient heritage, we are called 'the breeders'. It stems from what our ancestors did in the long past. They married for powers and secrets unique among the pureblood families. That disgusting custom has been abandoned some generations ago, but until now people still call us that way as an insult term."

Harry nodded in understanding. One of the first lessons Viniele had given him in magic and magical world had been about the bigotry in the society, occurring in the pureblood Houses (those whose ancestors had been all wizards and witches, not Muggles – non-magical people). To him, the view was ridiculous and quite dated, adding to the list of dislikes he had about the Wizarding World and any matters concerning it. Unfortunately, he would soon interact with the society he looked down upon, because George had announced that they would go to Diagon Alley, a magical shopping centre in London, to get him acquainted with this illusive society.

"Let us play." Dila broke his train of thoughts at length. "Come what may, Harry. Que sera, sera."

"Que sera, sera," Harry echoed. `_What will be, will be._`

Not a moment after, the two mini jets came to life and glided lazily one meter above the back yard. They chased each other in the warm mid-summer morning air, controlled by two children whose faces were flushed with competitive excitement. Laughter broke among them when the two little aeroplanes collided against each other and fell in a heap on the grassy dirt. Agile young feet raced to the spot, accompanied by childish war cries.

Unbeknownst to the children, the smiling face of a woman looked down at them with glittering deep-green eyes, happy that her selective daughter had really found a new friend, and that her son had shown signs of a brighter future for himself. Her husband would be estatic when she informed him.

With that thought, she turned around and left the balcony. There were still many things to discuss with her husband and the children's governess, and she was yet to prepare their trip to Gringotts.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Ready, children?"

Harry was nervously combing his hair with his fingers and flattening his fringes in order to hide his scar. Dila appear calmer, although he often caught her hands fidgeting with the hem of her surcoat (which the other people in the group also wore with ranging symbols embroidered on their chests). All in all, the most composed of them was Ana, who had a hand on the collar of her guide dog, Renna, while the other hooking around Harriet's elbow.

"As ready as I can be," Dila answered the question, which had been from George, in a quiet tone. The patriarch of the family seemed to take her as the spokesperson for the three children, because he nodded, cast a critical eye over their apparel including his own, and off they went to the Diagon Alley via a comfortable portkey – a glorified small merry-go-round (which at least did not knock off their feet when they landed).

Harry's first comment – inwardly – when they landed was that he might be feeling the 'last stage' in a three-meter elevator drop incident.

Apparently, it was a mutual feeling shared by most – if not all – the passangers.

"Never you bring us anywhere with one of your experiments again, dear husband. Do you hear that?"

It was Harriet, rubbing her sides while she was glaring at the addressee who sat beside her. But George only chuckled and grinned mischievously at her, a casual, roguish gesture which contrasted his formal attire.

"We are safe, are we not?" Viniele asked doubtfully in her French-accented lilting voice. She frowned in concentration for a moment, then dissolved into an unladylike grin. "Clever, my lord. I suppose I was too busy with everything to notice the Notice-Me-Not Charm and all the other spells you have put on this portkey. Might I assume that this is going to be a permanent transportation for us in future visits to the magical sections?"

To that, George burst into a gale of laughter. He was stopped only by Harriet jabbing a fist playfully at his stomach. He seemed as though he had lost more than two decades of his age before their very eyes, and that put the entire party into a relaxed atmosphere, with all the unnecessary tension breaking loose from their minds and bodies. They filed out of the bowl-like frame from the only gap available, George in the lead, and discovered that they had landed on the corner of a great marbel hall, with numerous doors leading away from it, full of milling and talking people.

With a flick of George's right index finger, the portkey shrank into a palm-sized miniature and flew into Dila's waiting right hand, which then she proceeded to tuck in her handbag. "Welcome to the main hall of Gringotts, Harry," George stated simply afterwards.

Said boy was currently speechless with an overload of emotions, and thus did not respond.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Welcome back to Gringotts, Sir and Madame Kensington."

That was the voice of Ragnok, the director of Gringotts' United Kingdom division; deep, gravelly, and firm, emanating wisdom and cleverness born from longevity. The Gobbledegook he was speaking in only served to sharpen all those qualities.

"We thank you, Ragnok."

That was her father's voice in all his regality and power, calm and composed, silent and passive – the quiet of a slumbering dreaded volcano. His was too smooth to speak Gobbledegook properly, yet it was still sufficient. After all, goblins did not care that much about language and all its properties, even their own, as long as it could be utilised as a tool to gain more profit in any way possible.

Ana stifled a smirk. Her hearing had picked a tiny hint of impatience underlying the words, despite the seeming regularity of the exchange. Her father was too eager to conclude the business and claim Harry once and for all, it seemed. Oh no, it was not about the poor boy's fame or money; it was just for himself: the entity – soul and mind and body – of a child who was hungry for knowledge, wisdom, friendship, and familial warmth in addition to a safe environment to live and grow. There was a gap in his heart, she knew, which a son had not filled for too long. She just hoped he would still manage his excitement and had prepared to face the worst – as a precaution.

Renna rubbed at her left knee with the dog's head. Ana exhaled silently, a little exasperated with her pet's habbit. "Stop, Renna," she hissed down to the mixbreed. Thankfully Renna did stop, as the girl was already tense enough without any further exacerbation. She could understand why the non-magical canine felt uncomfortable there, but she had been parted with her pet too often and for too long ever since Harry had entered her family's life, and she was not willing to part with the latter for even one day now.

Harry… That boy, she sensed, was in quite a stiff pose. She would have to tell him at home not to be that obvious in reining in his muscles from fidgeting. Such carriage would only make him look ridiculous and out of place.

That was, if there were no complications in this meeting, which she doubted.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The small party sat around Ragnok's desk with the Kensington couple directly before the goblin, Viniele and Ana on their left (with Viniel being closest to Ragnok), and Dila and Harry on their right (with Dila being closest to Ragnok). Inwardly, Harry wondered if Ragnok felt cornered with that kind of sitting arrangement, which he would if he were the goblin. But right now he could not concentrate on such matter, as a large folder was currently in his hands.

He had just been told that he was the only Potter alive, and thus inherited everything the Potter House had to offer. But there was a problem there… well, two, actually… in the forms of an illusive powerful person named Albus Dumbledore and the fact that Harry was still eleven years old. A child could not conduct legal and political affairs alone, and so far Albus Dumbledore had done it for him, appointing himself as Harry's magical guardian when Harry's parents had been killed on October 31, 1981.

He had not known that there could be separate guardians for magical and non-magical worlds. (It was impractical, in his opinion, which he nearly voiced out loud in the peril of receiving a stern talking-to from Harriet or perhaps George too later.) But nonetheless, he could sense that there was something off with his magical guardianship. Hesitantly, he asked for the folder of his parents – well, her mother's, actually – non-magical legal documents which Viniele had kept for him, getting an inconspicuous proud, approving glance from George in the process. In the meantime, he addressed Ragnok. "Aside from that, Sir, I got a list of guardians here, in the copy of my mother's non-magical will, in the event of my parents' deaths. There was no mention of Vernon and Petunia Dursley, so why was I put under their care?" He had prepared himself as best as he could for this meeting, practising his speech and bearing together with anyone available in the family – and of course the twins' and his governess, Viniele –, but still, he could barely contain the tremors in his voice and clammy hands, and the cold sweat running down all over his body. Goblins were not beings to appear weak or rude before, and they were smart and cunning.

Ragnok looked distinctly uncomfortable. If Harry had not been waiting for such a look, he would have missed it.

"Dumbledore…" the goblin actually stammered. Harry raised an eyebrow. At that time, though, he did not know that he had perfectly imitated George's severe inquiring look, which served to further daunt the most powerful goblin in all the United Kingdom – and possibly Europe.

"Is it within the authority of a magical guardian to forgo the parents' wishes as stated in their will?" Having read much and picked up words from such sources was helpful. All the same, the most important key in the argument was that Gobbledegook was no longer used in their discussion, mainly because of Harry's unfamiliarity with a great range of vocabulary needed to conduct a formal and prominent conversation in that tongue. Wordplay could sway one's heart, an old saying went, and Harry had planned to make It benefitial for him.

He succeeded, at least for now. Ragnok looked back and forth between him and the rest of the Kensingtons (mostly George, who sat beside him), seeming impressed and calculating, as though the goblin had found a vital fact that could either make him prosper in glory or fall into poverty. Harry waited, as did the others, but not for long.

"The document considered legal in the Wizarding World is the magical will, Mr. Potter, not the Muggle one. Your parents did have the magical will; your father's, in this case. But there is a problem… The will was never read, Mr. Potter."

The silence that ensued was so thick and sudden that it was as though the occupants of the room had been struck by each a heavy club. It hung between them, nearly tangible.

Then Harry whispered, and he himself felt like he had sliced the hush with a sharp, white-hot blade. "Read it now, please." It was a statement spoken barely as a whisper, caught between an angry command and a tired pleading. The boy watched dispassionately, distantly, when Ragnok's slim, long-fingered hands shot out instantly, as though after receiving a sharp rebuke from a superior, to one of the pile of papers that a younger goblin had delivered some time before.

The goblin looked openly relieved when he seemed to have taken the right paper. He coughed while scanning the page rapidly with his small, keen eyes, then began to read:

"I, James Rueld Potter, being of a sound mind and body, declared this last will and testament in my free will and without the outside influence of any forces. Every aspect listed below must be understood by the intended party(ies), and every point of each must be carried out exactly according to what I have written without any exception.

Firstly, I would like to delegate my inheritance to these parties:

1,000,000 (one million) Galleons and Catwell Isle to my wife, Lily Rose Potter née Evans, in the event that she outlives me (which I vervantly pray she will). Use it wisely, dear, and use it for yourself. Be happy and marry again if you wish. I am sorry that I cannot be there to provide for you and our little son… and perhaps give you the joy of more children. Anyway, my beloved Lils, I wish you good luck. Don't worry; we will meet again the end of the road.

500,000 (five hundred thousand) Galleons to Sirius Orion Black. Use it to lavish yourself and your little godson, dear brother. Please keep my Prongslet and Lilybud safe for me. Don't spoil my son (I have learnt most bitterly that one's big head can't win a woman); teach him to continue the good legacy, but not the bad. I have always trusted you with everything, even my life, and now I once more put my trust on you.

500,000 (five hundred thousand) Galleons to Remus John Lupin. And I swear, dear brother, if you did not use the money to live a better life and be more fashionable, I would be haunting you forever. You are a good man, despite what you have been made to be, so hold your chin up and go on (but don't strut before women like Lily, or you will find out an apple-sized bruise on your bum in the next instant, as you might have well known). If you need more money, don't be ashamed to ask from the other Marauders, or Lily, or Harry (when he is of age and can handle his inheritance and rank on his own); after all, that is what friends are for, aside from our other duties. Do some research for the betterment of your condition, and don't bother about the cost to do it.

500,000 (five hundred thousand) Galleons to Peter Francés Pettygrew. That is, if I am dead because of a cause other than our location being betrayed. You are our secret keeper for the Fidelius Charm Lily and I have performed, Pete, so your actions determine your worth in our eyes. But if I am indeed dead because of another cause, then a profuse apology is due to bestow upon you, my friend, for these harsh words spoken by a husband and a father in consternation.

300,000 (three hundred thousand) Galleons to Alice Margareth (née Macynon), Franklyn Theodore, and Neville Benjamin Longbottom. You are dearest to my family and my hearts, and I hope you look deeper than this pathetic sum of money to the reason behind the giving: love and eternal friendship between us in every term, which we have gained so far. It would please me very much if Harry could grow up with Neville; they, after all, have the same birthday and seemed to like each other when they met in their joined first birthday party. I wish you a long and happy life, dear sister, brother and nephew, and may the wounds of this war bother you not in the future. Use the money as you see fit, but I advise you to acquaint little Neville with plants because I caught him falling in love with the potted plant on the corner of the party room.

100,000 (one hundred thousand) Galleons to Minerva Gwendolyn McGonagall, my favourite teacher. I am sorry for the grief I caused you during and after my school years, Professor. That was my misshapened affection towards you, Minnie (oops). Well, this amount is not great, but I hope you could find in your great heart a room to accept it as a token of – belated – repentance and love from your former – delinquent – student. You might want a new touch to your wardrobe, by the way…

100,000 (one hundred thousand) Galleons to Filius Eldric Flidwick, my other favourite teacher. I apologise for my misbehaviours during and after school, and hope you will find great uses for the money that I could spare without seeing only at the face value of the small amount. Perhaps you could help Remus in his research about his condition, Professor? Anyway, I bid you a good health and prosperous life. May your brilliant mind never fade!

100,000 (one hundred thousand) Galleons to Rubeus Evred Hagrid. It is little compared to the constant havoc we Marauders wreaked on the grounds of Hogwarts when we were at school, but I hope you would accept it with good cheer and forgive us… or at least me, the departed one (Does puppy look help?). Hopefully you will also find good uses for that later, especially with your… unique… hobby. Please extend my greetings to Fang the puppy.

100,000 (one hundred thousand) Galleons to Albus Percival Wolfric Bryan Dumbledore. Thank you for having accepted Remus into Hogwards, Professor, therefore bestowing me with one of the best friends I could ever hope for. Your exentricity was always quite amusing… But please, do not meddle in other people's lives anymore. You are great, sure, but you are not everything. We – my friends, family, and I – have been ensnared in some of your tricks, but at least I do not begrudge you that. Just one thing: I will also be haunting you forever if you dare tweak Harry's life (or Lily's, or whoever I love besides); leave them be.

The rest (meaning the title, the rank, the responsibilities, the Wizengamot Seat, the vaults, and everything else) are to go to my son, Harlend James Potter: to give to him when he is of age if my wife is alive, or to give to him to manage under the guidance of his magical guardian in the event of my wife's death. Be a good son and man, Harry, and think before you act (don't be like me). I am sorry I cannot guide you into manhood and watch you as an adult, but know that I have died doing my best to secure a good environment for you to grow up. I was an auror, you know? It is equivalent to the police force in the Muggle World. You may follow my career footsteps if you wish, but you are also free to choose another occupation that you like and that suits you the best. Please love and care for your mother (if she is there) for me, and don't envy her inheritance. I set that in case you went bad (and my heart would be broken if so), so be a good boy and I'm sure your mother won't grudge you at least some holiday in the isle. I wrote many more things to you, son, but you ought to retrieve it in the family vault (not your ancestral one, and neither, of course, your trust vault). Fanghorn (our account manager) will help you there.

Secondly, I (in agreement with my wife) would like to delegate my son's guardianship (in the event of my wife's death) to his godfather, Sirius Orion Black. If the aforementioned godfather is not available, here are the person/people who is/are to be his guardian(s). (Note: If the first person is not available, the choice falls to the second, and so on, in a strict order. Under no circumstances should my son be placed in the care of Petunia and Vernon Dursley, my wife's kin.)

Remus John Lupin. (The only person I permit to gainsay this wish is Remus himself. Ministry of Magic, please do not tamper with this decision, in the peril of severe actions. I have left the goblins of Gringotts a set of instructions for this very purpose, so please do not even think of doing so.)

Franklyn Theodore and Alice Margareth Longbottom. (Please? I sorely hope Harry will have a loving family to grow up in. Hopefully you do not mind.)

Arthur Ellias and Molly Guineveer Weasley. (Hopefully you would not mind, my dear friends. I hope you could find in your great hearts to have another boy to take care of. The resources I have left for Harry are in your disposal for this purpose, and I hope it could somehow make it less a burden…)

George Edmund Charles and Harriet Marie Ezter Kensington. (I am sorry for my rambunxious younger years, my lord, my lady, for the pranks I pulled in your company… and even on you. Please extend my apologies to my friend Harriet and her younger siblings, and Andrew also. I know that we are more acquaintances than close friends, but I often overheard (I never meant to!) you talking with various people about wanting to adopt children. Would you please take in my little Harry? (Little George would love it, I am sure; he seems to love children in general.) My and my House's gratitude will always be with you.)

Kensington Orphanage. (My lord and lady Kensington, if you are not able or willing to adopt Harry into your family, at least please put him in the orphanage your family owns. To me (and Lily has agreed with me), it is the last nicest place and environment we can think of to trust Harry. I have told my wife about everything I know from my visits there with you. Harry will be safe and secure there, and more importantly, he will be happy and loved.)

Here I conclude my will and testament. Further documents regarding various matters can be retrieved in the family vault by the concerned parties under the permission of my family's Gringotts account manager. Complaints and disputes over what are written in this document are to be brought to the Wizzarding Court in a fair trial (and my agents will know if otherwise).

NB: Lily's will and mine are slightly different due to the different worlds they are intended for (the Muggle and Wizzarding ones), although they contain the same basic points. Regarding the list of guardians: Lily's choices which do not appear in my will are to be placed after number 5 (five) in the counterpart list in my will."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

George stiffened, his heart pounding. How could have he forgotten? James… James Potter, the prided only son of Lord Tobias and Lady Mary Potter, the boy who had been successful in pranking him, not knowing that said boy was the first to do so in more than a decade. He could still remember the mischievous hazel eyes framed by thin-framed glasses, the messy raven hair the trait of the family, the slim, agile body, the playful, infectious laughter, the cheeky remarks…

How could have he forgotten?

What sort of twisted fate was this?

Gingerly, he looked to his side, to where one that he hoped could be his son sat. Their eyes met, conveying the same incredulity – and, for Harry's part, bafflement.

Then Harry blurted, "Adopt me, please. The blood one, please? Please? I don't know who Sirius Black or Remus Lupin or Arthur Weasley is. I don't know anyone my father mentioned in his will. I don't want to go with any of them." There was consternation in his widened brilliant-green eyes, and also the vulnerability of a lost and stricken child. His cheeks flamed a split second later and he turned away, seeming to have just realised what he was doing. His breathing was ragged, as if he was holding back tears.

That tore at George's heart. It did not help that a yearning of his own was rampaging free within his mind and soul, released by the earnest, spontaneous plea from the subject of it. With an effort, he turned to his other side, gauging Harriet's reaction.

She was wiping her eyes, lids closed, and nodding at him, possibly sensing his gaze on her.

A warm feeling bloomed in his chest, threatening to burst out of its confine. Reflexively, he grabbed her hand and Harry's, trusting that the twins were doing the same. Then he transvered the feeling and the energy that went with it through the link, and felt as his recepiants tightened their holds on his hands and mind. Harry gasped; probably because of the sheer intimacy of the experience, and possibly also because his soul seemed to have just made a bond with the others in the family.

Viniele and Ragnok were looking at them knowingly when they returned to themselves. George arched a small smile, confirming what had just happened. Ragnok grinned a toothy grin and addressed Harry while shaking the boy's hand, "Young one, you have just been accepted into the family. Congratulations, Harlend James Potter-Kensington. Do you wish to have another name added? It is the tradition in the family for each member to have two middle names."

Harry nodded dazedly but then looked up at George uncertainly, a question in his expressive eyes.

But it was Viniele who answered him. "A soul bond is greater than a blood bond, Harry. Blood adoption is the more popular one of the two because soul adoption can only be performed by the parent or parents, and the person or couple must have mastered soul magic to do so. It is rare and dangerous in performance, but ensures a more intimate adoption. You can still do the blood adoption, though, if you would like to." She smiled and also shook Harry's hand across the cluttered desk. "Welcome to the family, Harlend James Potter-Kensington," she echoed. Then, after a slight pause, she continued, "About the name, you can think of it later. I believe your new parents is of the same opinion with me." She cast a glance at Lord and Lady Kensington who nodded in unison without a word.

But there was something in her eyes that belied her cheerfulness. Actually, it was in the gazes of everyone in the room except Harry. It was shock tempered by incredulity.

Sirius Black, the person accused for a mass murder, seemed to be blameless.

Given the determined glint in the Kensington couple's and the governess' eyes, it appeared that the full truth of the matter would soon be revealed, and it was a big chance that someone who had been ten years incarcerated in the horrid prison which was Azkaban would be freed and compensated for the commitment of a terrible mistake.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

`_How is he now, do you think?_` Dila asked softly.

`_I don't know, Dil. This isn't the best time for that either, I suppose_,` Ana's reply, spoken mentally in the same quiet voice, drifted across their twin bond. `_Concentrate. Concentrate. We'd do Harry no good if we can't retrieve all his rights and things from all those stealers._`

`_There is only one stealer we are dealing with, An. No exaggeration, please. It's already bad as is_,` Dila snorted. But she obeyed nonetheless, and continued her discussion with Ragnok with a renewed verver.

They had managed to gain back Harry's trust vault key; Viniele had summoned it easily to her, so it seemed that the key had not been well-guarded. The magical guardianship of Albus Dumbledore over Harry was also null and void automatically with Harry's entry to the Kensington family. That left only one thing for now…

"The Invisibility Cloak is a family heirloom; it is stated in the family book, Sir. Albus Dumbledore has no right to it." Dila. Firm.

"James Potter lent it freely to Albus Dumbledore, as I said before." Ragnok. Annoyed.

"Why hasn't he returned the cloak to the family or ancestral vault of the Potters? There is still one Potter left, and he must have known that sooner or later the heir would claim back the artefact." Ana. Shrewd – as usual. `_Covetous old coot._`

"Please don't ask me how his mind works. It is not in my purview to answer." Ragnok. Sneering.

There was only one option left, namely letting Harry regain back the Invisibility Cloak right from Dumbledore's hands. Well, five minutes of intense argument just to reach the same point…

"Once Harry regains consciousness, we shall continue the discussion. Is that agreeable, Sir?" Dila inquired, struggling to keep her irritation in check. Ragnok was not at fault here, although the goblin did rub at everyone's nerves with his short, witty and jabbing remarks. Their father and mother were away in the small infirmary section of the bank, accompanying Harry who had passed out just after completing the blood-adoption ritual, so perhaps now he saw a chance to trample the remaining females – one woman and a pair of young twins.

Ragnok's sharp, curt nod was what it took for the meeting to proceed to the conclusion. In less than half an hour, the three females found themselves walking to the infirmary with each holding some folders and Dila and Viniele pocketing each a bunch of keys. Their stomachs were rumbling and growling and their throats were parched, yet they did not even once inquire about refreshments. Their minds were on the newest addition to the family who might still be lying unconscious in one of the beds of the goblin infirmary.

Their joy upon finding that Harry was awake – although weak – was great. Nevertheless, it was tainted by the fact that the boy had collapsed into a temporary oblivion because there was a second presence in his body that had tampered with the ritual. He had two souls, one latching to the other like a thorny, poisonous vine. The only things that relieved them were that Harry's original soul was strong and pure enough to fend itself from being consumed, and that he was apparently protected from the evil fragment by a layer of shielding pure love, possibly the result of a sacrifice made by one of his biological parents during the fated Halloween night ten years ago.

Anyway, Harry was still Harry, not some kind of devil incarnate, in the twins' opinion, proved when he asked if he could still fly with his broom once they were home.

"None of that until the healers and I deem you recovered, young man," the matriarch of the family stated firmly. Her husband echoed her, but with less 'enthusiasm', when Harry, needing his glasses no more after the blood adoption, stared pleadingly at him. The boy tried not to grumble, but his dejected look was evident.

Getting an idea, Dila chimed in, "You can sneak on one when you have taken back your Invisibility Cloak from Dumbledore, Harry."

Wrong move. She was grounded alongside Harry.

"Well, at least then I can spend my time playing everything else."

She just did not know…


	9. Chapter 8: Another Unfortunate Soul

Chapter Notes:

Ah… Fluff in abundance. I forgot to warn you that such thing is prone to happen in this story. (I don't know what about the sequel, but it is so here.) Thanks for being with me so far. Reviews will be highly appreciated, since the sense of companionship – sort of – in it feels more… tangible… that way. Alerts and favourites do wonders too, so thanks for those who have put me into their lists.

I think, from now on (well, from last chapter, actually), there will seldom be chapters which are not separated into different point of views, given the many things I am trying to cover at once. Please tell me if it works well or not; and particularly in this chapter, if the actions/feelings/emotions are believable, or perhaps too melodramatic. I was twiddling with a first person point of view and undecided between telling it in the past or present tense. Some insights, please? Well, anyway, I hope you will enjoy the chapter.

- Rey

PS: Oops. I forgot. I would like to apologise for the blunder I might commit in the first part of this chapter. I wrote it mostly based on my research in the Internet, so it might not be accurate – especially about the tradition, everyday living and all, aside from the technicalities. If you find some oddities or mistakes in it, please (please, please) tell me.

PPS: Please check the last chapter if you have time. I have added a bit about the reaction after the will reading. It was not satisfactory, but at least that was what I could do in that frame. More will be explained in the chapter after the next (Chapter 11).

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 9: Another Unfortunate Soul

A young man, barely a full adult, stood languidly, leaning to the metal railing. He was looking down from the second level of a large dormitory-like building to the glittering line of a small channel afar, half-buried in the hazy tree line of a forest. However, his mind was neither on the channel nor on the forest, and nor even on himself. The wind blew his deep-silver short, trimmed locks around, but he ignored it, thinking – absent-mindedly – in amusement that he would appear more casual with a 'bird's nest' upon his head.

He was only brought back from his reverie when his keen ears, sharpened even more by all the various trainings he had undergone, picked up the silent but firm footfalls of booted feet – which could only mean either an officer of his rank in battle uniform or a lower one in a daily uniform coming in search of him. He had pleaded to the person in charge of the building, the mess occupied by him and about a hundred other officers of the Royal Marines, that he be not disturbed in this secluded balcony, his favourite retreating point in the mess, unless for urgent matters. Sometimes being of a noble lineage – and a powerful, influencial one at that – could have benefits too, after all, despite the inconsequencial position he and his ancestors in the family occupied in the armed forces.

Mentally composing himself, the man turned around, still in his lazy stance, and a pair of wary pale-blue orbs clashed with those of nervous dark brown.

The soldier – for the other man's bearing suggested that quite clearly – was in plain clothing… or what some would call 'civvies' (short for civil clothing) when out of the people in charge's range of hearing. The first man was curious about how things had turned out, although he kept silent and his stoic visage up. There was no need to make whom he assumed was a new 'inhabitant' of the base more nervous than what his scrutinising gaze had caused already.

"Did you wish to enjoy the view, or did you have something to say to me?" he asked in a polite, indifferent tone, deciding to end the awkward silence that had fallen between them.

The other soldier, he noted with approval, regained his demeanour quickly and pronounced in a solemn tone, "Captain Kensington."

"That is I." The first man nodded. He raised an eyebrow when the other man, who now had lost his composure again, started fidgeting. What was wrong? His mind was too restless for him to force it to decipher subtle gestures or references, and anyway he was not up for any conversation right from the beginning.

He took a step forward, intending to skirt the newcomer while excusing himself to his room, but he got an undesired, unexpected response: the soldier stepped back warily. The eyebrow which had returned to its normal position shot up again. The man could see no intimidating gestures issued by himself, so the reaction baffled him.

"Letters for you, Sir. To be fetched and read quickly, the head of the mess said, Sir," the newcomer blurted when the man, Captain Kensington, opened his mouth with his eyes sharpened with mixed concern and curiosity. The captain just closed his mouth and nodded, then he brushed past the newcomer with a soft-spoken "Thank you," and "Good afternoon," and was gone.

In his absence, the newcomer sagged against the outer wall of the mess and brushed a hand across his face. His day had gone well up to just now, with himself being settled rather quickly and smoothly in the new establishment he was assigned to. But then, just after he had found his room and acquainted himself with it, the head of the mess had come up to him when he was strolling across the foyer. He got his first ever assignment in his new base then, and his task was to inform a certain Captain Kensington that there were letters in the administration room next to the foyer that were to be fetched as soon as possible. He should have known that it was not an easy task from the strange gleam in the senior soldier's eyes. But anyway, who would have thought that carrying out such a menial chore could be that hard? Certainly not he.

He would look out for Captain Kensington next time and made sure that he would not shame himself again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Woops, shouts, and shrieks of laughter wafted through the open window of the study. George grinned. It was raining heavily outside, but the manour was warded from lightnings and the worst of the storms, so anyone being outside was only in the danger of being wet and catching a cold. He had turned a blind eye on the children's play out there on the side yard, thinking that they would be fine if they took the necessary steps – such as bathing in a hot tub and drinking at least a mug of hot tea – afterwards. Harriet had been busy arranging everything for their oncoming small holiday with Viniele in their appointed holiday lodge; what she did not know would not hurt her.

He, like his wife, was preparing for the holiday. But while she got the fun part of it, he got the boring, tideous one: making sure that they would not be neglecting their duties while in holiday. Ledgers, legal letters and documents, notes, reports and charts were strewn on his writing desk, permitting no one to see the glass-framed surface of it. He had been working on it for two days while the two women were away in Lake District. Sometimes he permitted the children to help in tackling them, other times they insisted to do so themselves… but today, or specifically this afternoon, the wet open air looked, smelled, and sounded more enticing than the paperwork for their fiery, youthful spirits.

They were back in their non-magical residence. Harry was still unused to the presence of the house elves serving in their magical residence instead of the human servants, and so the couple had seen it prudent to expose him to the unique creatures only bit by bit, therefore removing themselves back to their other home. No one from the family had had any objection to it, given the fact that the magical home was only larger, wilder, and more ancient than the non-magical counterpart. The protections and quality of both places were generally the same: blood protection ward (which had been activated as soon as Harry had been blood-adopted), typical house wards (like anti-thief, anti-fire, anti-lightning and anti-storm), wards against people with harmful or evil intentions, and a sundry other wards which had been multiplied and strengthened over the generations. The only – main – difference between the wards around the two residences was the Fidelius Charm put in the magical manour some generations ago to shield the House – if need be – from nosy and harassing magical people.

Besides, the young princes William and Henry would visit soon and went with them in the holiday, and they were always nervous with the sight and sound of the house elves. It would not do, ruining their holiday before it even started – or anyone else's, for that matter.

A small pop distracted George from his work and musing. He looked up and around the desk, searching for a new letter that must have arrived – transvered from the magical manour by the house elves.

There. It lay atop the report from the milk factory he had just finished reading. From the look of it, it was not one delivered via the house elf, though, since no house elf would have placed a Private Charm on the letter, and charms like that would have been dissolved by any of those magical servants on his instruction. There was only one person known to ever write him a letter in this way – with a Private Charm and myriad other protections to boot.

He read the postcard-shaped notebook page cut silently.

`_Dad,_

_I think I will go directly to Lake District; it is nearer from here. __I shall be there on Thursday. I have managed to gain a long break, so I am not going to come back here until early September. There is someone whom I have asked to accompany me; I hope you do not mind. He told me he has met you briefly, but did not tell where or when. He is a nice man, although a bit addicted with taking photographs (for his own pleasure). He is helpful and might be a pleasant company for the holidays. Well, if you do mind, just tell me so and I shall pass it to him._

_Your son._`

Brief, to the point… brittle.

The man sighed. He wished he had gotten a longer, more elaborate letter. Where was his timid, scrawny child? Where was the spitting image of himself who liked to cling to him, who always took shelter in Harriet's and his presence from whatever problem plaguing his young – yet so old – mind? The boy had grown up, but not quite to the right direction, and his parents had not been there to witness and encourage the moments, the steps he took to reach full adulthood.

It was his fault, his fault alone. If only he could embrace the child again, caress him, soothe and comfort him…

He tore his gaze from the neat handwriting in the short letter with all his might, then proceeded to tuck said letter in a secret drawer in the desk. There the letter shared the space with miscellaneous other precious items, things that he would not be parted with even should one ask to trade them with gold, gems and fame.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dusk was creeping across the sky, but there seemed to be no change in the environment. The rain still poured heavily onto the earth, as though intent on drowning it. The clouds blotted most of the sunlight, and the wet, heavy curtain of big water drops did not help the lighting at all.

Three children, bundled in blankets and nursing each a mug of hot chocolate, huddled on a window seat and looked outside the glass frame longingly. They had been summoned back into shelter half an hour ago by their mildly-exasperated father – who, when asked why he looked that way, confessed that he had thought they would have been soon tired of their aimless play under the downpour, not otherwise. The children took it as a compliment. But still, it did not change the fact that they could not enjoy the rain again now. Their father had threatened to tell their mother if he saw so much as a foot under the rain until the day ended – midnight, in his 'dictionary'.

The child on the middle shifted, causing the two flanking him to utter each a grunt of protest over the physical disturbance (since they were pressed together in the seat meant for two persons). He ignored them in favour of a sip from his mug. He was in a deep thought, judging from the expression on his face and the distant light in his vivid-green eyes. The other children noticed it but did not comment, preferring to enjoy the silence and themselves and not wanting to intrude in his privacy.

After a while, the boy no longer sipped from his mug, too busy staring at it. What he saw was not the slowly-cooling brown, fragrant liquid within the container, though, but a collection of scenes and images.

He had not been integrated into the family for long, yet it felt as though it had been forever. Still, despite everything, there was a sense of discomfort that always nagged him everytime he interacted with the other family members, a notion that he was beneath the others – a thing instilled by the Dursleys since he had been very small.

His aunt and uncle were not totally wrong, he thought bitterly. He was indeed beneath the others. How not? There was a fragment of a mad soul in him, and no one had come out with a way to release his own from it. He was tainted. That was why Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had always called him scum, was it not? They had known all along, had they not? He was not a pure being.

"Harry? Why are you brooding?" It was Ana, the one to his left. He shook his head, a little dazed.

"The chocolate must be quite cool now," Dila observed with a smile. A second of intent gaze later and the mug nursed in Harry's hands warmed up considerably.

"Wish I could do it now," commented the boy absently.

"All comes with time and effort, little brother," Dila chuckled. "Well, that's what everyone said when I whined about it three years ago."

"Be glad that we're out of bounds from that restriction on underaged magic users while we're here," Ana piped in. "Imagine if we couldn't practice out of school…"

"That would be hell," the two other children agreed in unison and grinned. The worried expression on Harry's face lifted up a bit, and the shadow was banished momentarily from his eyes.

But Ana was apparently being serious.

"Harry?"

"Yes?" Said boy squirmed under her penetrating eyes – which were supposed to be all unseeing.

"Don't let Voldemort rule you."

Dila gently took the mug from Harry's hands before it had a chance of spilling or falling to the floor altogether. Meanwhile, she threw her twin an exasperated but fond glance.

"W-what do you mean?" Harry, horrified, stuttered.

"Simple," Ana stated grimly. "You feel worthless because a part of his soul is in you, right?" On Harry's nod, she continued, "He is to be cautious about, but that never means you are beneath others, Harry. He can control you if you keep on this feeling. He throve in people's fears and weaknesses, Mum and Dad told us. You must be strong, although you mustn't be reckless or too confident. Remember that your mum's protection is also in your soul, protecting you from him. Your soul is purer and more shielded than many because of that, despite that parasite."

"You two will ever be a mystery for me," Harry responded in a meek voice, welcomed by a chorus of low bout of laughter from the twins.

"We are a mystery to the world at large, little brother, so you are not alone," Dila snickered.

How he loved it when they called him "little brother"… He would not have believed that he would be called in that manner were he not experiencing it himself. It was not a belittling term used by the children in his neighbourhood and primary school; it was that of affection, something he had lacked until now.

He hoped he was not betraying the memory of his biological parents in this way. He loved them, but they were dead, and he needed to be loved by real, living people, just like every other normal person around the world.

He was normal… was he not?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What are they doing, Dad?" Dila broke the comfortable silence that had been hanging in the van. They were going home from a private small trip to the Royal Marines Museum, and it was late in the afternoon there just outside the city of Portsmouth. Harry's attention was also outside the window, to the same spot she was staring at, but Ana was busy playing with one of their magical toys – a magical half-solid substance which could be turned into various shapes and qualities only by hands and willpower. The father of the three children was the driver, for once, and to his side sat their mother.

Viniele looked up from the magazine she was reading and peered at the window over the children's heads – seeing that she sat farthest from said window. However, it was neither George nor she who answered, but instead Harriet. The wavy-brown-haired woman tilted her head a bit, glancing at the scene they were passing, and said, "They were ushering the homeless away from government's land, little one. Most likely those poor people will be housed – temporarily at least – in the shelters built by the Department of Wellfare for such purpose."

"Then what's a little boy doing there? He seems to be living alone," Harry pointed out suddenly just when the van was about to pass the scene completely in the slow traffic. For emphasis, he pointed his index finger at a mop of rusty hair flitting around a policeman's waist nearby the last shabby cardboard hut a ways away from the roadside.

The passangers gasped and bombarded George with confused-toned questions and statements when the driver, seemingly on instinct or a cue hidden from them, veered their van out of the queue in the traffic and parked it by the cardboard hut. Their confusion turned into worry when, saying nothing, he got out of the driver's seat and approached the policeman and the little child with a determined air around him. One by one, they followed his example, leaving the van's engine turned on but otherwise shutting its doors and locking them.

The little child – a small boy – was presently trying to break free from the tight grip of the policeman by twisting, kicking and running around said man. Vicious imprecations flew out of his mouth, uttered by a voice which should have been innocent and full of joy – which just made them sound more hideous. The family had not heard him when they had been in the van, but now they did, and mentally recoiled from the noises.

The two males froze when George put a hand atop the child's stringy-haired head. "What is the matter?" he asked blandly. The policeman seemed to be collecting himself, because it was a moment later that he replied.

"We found this child living here, Sir. He is to go with the others to the temporary shelter appointed for them. He seems to be all alone here, and the children section there might help him. But he does not want to go."

"I live here! No one wanted me. Why now?" the child piped in angrily. In the span of a heartbeat, he resumed wriggling.

"What is your name?" George asked the little boy in the same calm voice he had used.

"No name!" the child shouted. "Nobody! Nothing!"

He twisted one last time, and finally broke free. The policeman yelped in surprise and consternation. But the child's flight did not last long. Harriet stooped and caught him when he was passing by her. He screamed, but oddly now without the invectives, flailing and beating.

"I shall take him home with me, if the law sees fit," George, after glancing at the boy and the rest of his family, said in a lower tone to the policeman – who stuttered his assent. He brought the news to his family after securing an appointment with the person in charge of the event. Harriet looked mildly-amused and joyous, and so did Viniele, while the children seemed eager and interested – except Harry, who looked a little traumatic for a cause the man did not know. The little boy himself was incredulous – scornfully so. He appeared to have led quite a bitter life.

Perhaps it had something to do with his red eyes and dried-blood-coloured hair. He looked like a little demon in that way, indeed, especially coupled with his violent language and behaviour. But George refused to back down.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was cool but also warm. It was comfortable, very comfortable. I was wrapped in something soft and warm, in a pair of arms, it seemed. Someone was holding me. It was weird. Nobody wanted to even look at me. They were terrified of me, I guessed. So what was wrong with this person?

Heartbeats… I heard her heartbeats… Lovely rhythm, like a calm song I sometimes heard from a passing vehicle on the road. It lulled me back into sleep.

It was slightly different when I woke up again. I could tell that the person holding me was a man… and he was talking to someone in low tones, judging from the pleasant vibration on his chest. He was cradling me too. I did not know the meaning of "gentle" until now, until he rocked me.

Then he directed his words to me – in a louder voice. "I know you are awake, little one. Come out and greet our honourable goblin here, would you?"

Goblin? What was it?

But it was too comfortable… I did not want to let go of this. Who knew when I would be able to feel like this again? I snuggled deeper into the cocoon instead, and moaned in protest when he forced me out of my hiding. My instinct kicked in and I wanted to fight him, or scream or curse, but I was too drowsy.

He chuckled, and I stopped wiggling. I never heard a sound like that. It was so different from the types of laughter I was used to hearing.

I was too distracted. One time I was still secure underneath the blanket, and the next time I found myself sitting up in the man's lap with the blanket draped around me, looking up at the person he wanted me to see. Doing so, I squeaked in surprise and fear and looked away, pressing deeper into the man's embrace. The creature was weird! He had small, sharp eyes, pointed face, pointed teeth, pointed ears… and pointed fingers! The creature, when he laughed at me, sounded weird too.

"Would you like to be our son, little one?" the man asked me. I did not answer, too busy trying to find an escape from the presence of the creature. He asked me again, but this time he uncurled me and made me face the person beside him, who looked at me with… with something in her green eyes that made me all warm and content, comfortable. I did not know what it was called. I never received that from anyone else before. "She is Harriet, little one, and I am George. We would like you to become our family. Do you want so?" he repeated again. I shrugged. Before I could retreat back into his full embrace, though, the woman extended her hands to me. I did not know what it meant, but it was so inviting and promising… But how if she betrayed me? People had lied to me, so why not now? She was an adult, like the man, like the others…

Regardless, I wanted to try just this… this once.

She smiled; smiled so widely that her face looked to be splitted in halves. I was frightened by it, but oddly it made me happier and warmer, more secure and sure. I uttered an unvoluntary giggle and hopped across the small gap to her lap, forsaking my earlier nest. In a quick motion, she had me in her arms much like the man had. Then she tickled me, and I giggled louder and squirmed in a half-hearted way, not really wanting to escape from her somehow. The man had continued talking with the… gobin? Lobin? Goglin? Oh well – but all the same he grinned at me when I looked up at him with wide eyes.

It was weird. People were always terrified of my eyes, but these people were not. Why? Why did they treat me like this? Could I really become their family? Or was this just a dream? I did not want to wake up, if that meant this would end.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was late at night. There were not many vehicles on the road, given the inconvenience of car ride to travel long distances and the uneconomicality of delivering supplies and packages in this way. Viniele was driving the van, relieving George of the task. The man was now seated in the place the governess had occupied before, slumbering peacefully with his head supported by a pillow on the juncture between the back of the seat and the window, with the little boy, the newest addition to the family, curled up in his arms in the same deep sleep.

The little boy…

Harry shuddered on the memory. He had seen another pair of red eyes before, but at that time he had lost his parents, and been nearly killed himself. This pair, though, was slightly different in closer inspection. This pair of eyes had been full of anger and hatred too, but not malice. There had been fear and uncertainty in them, things that made the small, skinny child more humanoid than Voldemort.

Soon his thoughts were not resting in the gloomy subject anymore, however. The calm permiating the interior of the van did much to lul him into repose. And he was not the only person – beside George and the still-nameless little one – who was tempted to venture into the dreamland.

Ana had fallen asleep as well, her head resting on her twin's shoulder padded by another pillow. Dila was idly playing with the same toy the other girl had played earlier, but yawned every so often. Before her, in the front passenger seat, Harriet had fallen asleep for some time. The soft melodies of the classical music turned on the van's built-in tape player seemed to be the culprit of the drowsiness; then it was no wonder that Viniele had put on her headset and listened to her own selection of music.

Harry was still fighting to keep awake, but it was a losing battle. Like Dila, he kept yawning and blinking, snapping to awareness then and again. He had the rear seat of the van all to himself, after the others argued that he was not accustomed yet to travelling long distances by car and thus wanted to spare him the stiff joints and muscles.

He had only accepted the sitting arrangement reluctantly, and now he half-cursed half-thanked it. The rather-long stretch of the seat, void of anything except for a pillow and a blanket, looked so inviting…

They had experienced an eventful day. The quiet peace of the present moment felt both alien and soothing at the same time. All the boy could hear was the music from the speakers strewn in strategic places in the van, tempered with the regular breathing of slumbering people. All he could feel was the cool breeze produced by the air conditioner, the soft, springy seat, the smooth motion of the van's wheels, the muted droning of the vehicle's machine, and the contentment of a good day closed.

Then, a while later, the pillow and the blanket were added to the list.


	10. Chapter 9: A Little Family Holiday

Chapter Notes:

Firstly I would like to address an issue brought up by a review for last chapter. I introduced Vorin in the last chapter not as some sort of "healing therapy" for George Junior, the lord's 'oldest son' (as he is actually not his oldest, although the story why, I am afraid, will not be told until later). Harry needed a companion other than his twin big sisters, and I gave him the little nameless stray. You are going to see why here, promptly. ;) I apologise for possibly unreplied reviews. My Internet connection has been bothering me for the last week. I did reply, but perhaps it got lost on the way. I would never know.

This is more like a filler chapter, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. (It is my favourite so far.) A friend of mine brought to my attention the fact that the characters in canon seem too 'inhuman' in a way because of the ever-moving plot which does not give room for them to experience intensive moments of humanity – or childhood, for that matter. I am trying to provide that 'respite' here. Again, there are matters which cannot be addressed deeply, and I apologise for it, but I saw that this chapter was already quite long, too long for some in-depth 'analysis' of some parts of it.

You might get to what series my reference goes in the last part of this chapter, but if you do not, you could always treat them as just plain characters – almost like original ones. And speaking about characters, please tell me if the amount of similar and identical names in this chapter is too confusing. There might not be a way around it, but I still wish to know… and perhaps you could give me some advice on how to tackle the problem?

Next chapter might rival Chapter 8 in its complexity and word count (*grimace*), but hopefully it will be just as fun to read…

For now, enjoy this one!

- Rey

PS: Okay. I decided to post this chapter now, although I have not finished my next one. And yes, the chapter's word count will rival Chapter 8. As for why I took so long in working on it… well… To be honest, I am struggling with the second-to-last part of it. There are some changes evolving around Albus Dumbledore in the plotline for this prologue of the series… I do not know still how to address the matter. Until then, I am obviously stuck. So I give you this as part of my promise not to make you wait for too long for an update. I hope you are still interested in the story. As this story is a prologue of the series, it tends to be duller and more foundational in nature.

Your comments would be much, much appreciated; any critiques, thoughts, encouragements, remarks… anything. Thank you for those who have reviewed this story, and those who keep reviewing; you mean a lot to me, more than you might know or expect. I noticed that I began craving for more reviews… but I clamped down on it, hard. 22 reviews for a total of 10 chapters is more than I have ever gotten and I should be estatic; well, in fact, I am, still.

Hmm. I apologise for the moping-like lengthy blabbering. Flame me for this if you would like. I thought I would never be this… chattery.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 10: A Little Family Holiday

"Ow!"

A solid weight had just collided against Harry's chest. "Wake up!" the culprit chirped, uncoiling his tiny frame in a lazy manner, like a tomcat, atop the older boy. Said older boy groaned in annoyance and turned to the side, throwing the intruder onto the quilt-covered bed.

"Vorin… What did I tell you about waking me up too early?"

"But it is nine and we shall be going at twelve!"

`_I wish Viniele didn't teach you about reading the clock, little devil,_` Harry grumbled. He stretched his neck and limbs and arched his back, moaning in pleasure when his joints and muscles relaxed and his bones popped.

Of course, the intruder chose the moment as the perfect time to once again pounce on him. Harry yelped and, this time, retaliated by tackling the smaller boy onto the bed, pinning the latter down and tickling him mercilessly. The confused tustle only stopped when the door to Harry's bedroom, which he now shared with the youngest addition to the family, opened without prior announcement. The twins, bright and fresh like the rising sun in a dewy morning, stood there with Renna the guide dog between them.

"How can you all be fresh in the morning?" Harry grumbled. Simultaneously, he pulled his legs close to his body, since Renna, who jumped onto the bed following her mistress, seemed to put a great interest in the soles of his feet. Vorin snuggled to his side, allowing room on the bed for Ana to lie down.

"You're going to know how it feels once you warm up to your school's schedule mixed with our training and studying sessions, little brother," Dila grinned. "By the way, there are a bunch of invitation letters for you in the maildrop. We fetched them specially for you." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and handed him a pile of paper and parchment envelopes.

"Choose wisely, Harry," Ana piped in from his other side. "But you don't have to go to Hogwarts like we do. I think Dila mentioned something about the Academy of Magic when we were sorting the mails, so it means you won't stay long anyway in whatever school you choose before you transver there. (You're so lucky! We only get to go there this year.) Still, this first school will determine the strength of your foundation in magical and mandane matters."

"I know, Mum," Harry joked. And he did, because Viniele had told him about every magical school she knew – which were quite many – early in his lesson about magical world, saying that a student must be aware of what and where said student learnt as well as the person could. The Academy of Magic was a prestigious magical school with a wide range of quality-orientated lessons, but also notorious for the rather hopeless percentage of graduating students recorded there (fifty percent; the rest either being unable to keep up with the curriculum there, drawned out by their guardians for one reason or another, or dead because of various mishaps in the school which they usually perpetrated themselves either accidentally or voluntarily). Despite the downside of the school's record, though, witches and wizards all over the world yearned to be accepted there their whole teenage lives, not knowing when they might be invited to attend the school (since the academy picked up students selectively and disregarded their age or backgrounds). That sounded like a haven of learning for Harry, and so he would not miss a chance of enrolling into the school, even if he must attend two schools at once – which was not common but not unheard of either.

Unluckily, he paid for his cheek to the rather-vengeful Ana a bit too much.

He knocked his temple against Dila's in his haste of avoiding Ana's knuckles. "Ow! This is your fault, big sister." He rubbed his sore temple with a hand and broke the seal of the first letter – an azure vertical line flanked by sable colour in the background, and a fox facing a dragon within the circle of a cockatrice's body upon the colours – with the other. It was from Durmstrang Institute of Magic.

Before he could go over half the letters, unfortunately, Harriet came into the room and chid them with mild amusement, saying that they should have been preparing to depart since at least half an hour ago.

It was half past ten now.

The children, realizing the time, jumped out of the bed and proceeded to rush along their last preparations for the holiday, aided – but sometimes distracted too – by Renna. It was just as the siblings William and Henry arrived to join them in the trip and the subsequent sojourn to the lake-shore cottage. The letters were briefly forgotten, lying strewn on the mussed bed-covers.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The van was packed with people and bags (and a rather-large dog), yet it managed to look comfortable – and even exelerating. (Perhaps that was why George had refused to shrunk all bags and packages they brought with them, and let them fill even the roof of the fan.) Everyone dressed casually, prepared for a day-long journey to their holiday cottage. Harry once again sat on the rear seat, but now he had company aside from William and Henry: Vorin.

The five-year-old – according to the tests done by Gringotts goblins – little boy had been given a name just three days ago, a day after the unexpected visit to the Wizarding Bank. Now, at last, he had an identity: Vorin Benedict Geoffrey Kensington, born on September 1, 1986. He had undergone the same adoption procedures as Harry, and the same heritage tests as the twins three years prior. Like the twins, unfortunately, his biological parents and birth place were unknown. His rust-coloured hair remained, but his blood-red eyes were now pale blue (like George) ringed by each a thin line of black.

He had warmed up to the family with surprising quickness, seeming to crave even the slightest touch and attention. He, like Harry, enjoyed quiet moments and small talks with their parents. He was a diligent and eager learner, unceasingly soaking and practising the knowledge – whether on subjects such as reading and science, or manners and etiquettes –, rivaling Harry's thirst for learning. In short, he reminded Harry of himself. And indeed, the both of them were almost unseparable ever since.

That was why he was currently harassing Harry by constantly turning in the older boy's lap and touching said boy's body parts where it tickled. As both had predicted, Harry ended up hugging the little imp close to himself in order to avoid naughty fingers and more turning and fussing in Vorin's part. That was always Vorin's goal, and Harry did not really mind complying to his wish. Besides, he had found out earlier today that the little boy was just being jealous and possessive, given how the brothers, especially Henry, seemed to be attached to Harry.

Above all, the feeling was what made Harry uncomfortable. People had rained their attention on him before this, but they never 'horded' him so vehemently. Vorin and Harry had nearly gone into a fist fight just before they boarded the van because of a quarrel on who would get a place in the older boy's lap; thankfully Harriet, her 'military mode' activated, had been there to separate them. Later she told Harry – in the privacy of the deserted entrance hall – that what the little ones had done was common, and he might have to deal with more of it later. It was not an encouraging thought, at all. He had never dealt with such attitude; he had no experience in solving the problem. Well, he had even never been acknowledged as existing most of the times while being with the Dursleys!

And now the children were at it again, because Henry had decided to snuggle close to Harry's side, seeming to want to use his shoulder as a pillow to sleep on.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The city streets gave up to country roads, which then narrowed again when they branched into rural settlements decorating a region of rolling hills. They dissolved into a single uneven dirt path when the tenacious family car plunged into a patch of forested area. By the time the trees hugged the vehicle, its passangers were all awake, jolted into alertness by the jerky movement of the car; then, thinking that it was futile to concentrate on other matters, they opted to enjoying the wild yet calm view provided by the woods.

There had already been three drivers steering the vehicle: George for the first leg of the journey, Viniele the second (the boring one, according to general consensus), and Harriet the last – the one they were taking. Vorin had 'visited' nearly everyone's lap during that time, and Viniele even let him sit with her when she was driving through an area less guarded by the police forces and their spying cameras. Harry had managed to learn a full song on the mini guitar brought to be part of their holiday, tutored by anyone willing and currently jobless in the car. That was, if Vorin was not clinging to him like a hyperactive limpet, or he was not otherwise engaged in a conversation with anyone. He was not quite a multi-tasker, after all.

The forest path seemed to stretch endlessly. Always when they turned on a bend, they found out that it only led to another leg of the path, not an opening of any sort. Often it undulated, following the contours of the hills it was carved into; sometimes gently arching, sometimes sharply plunging. Ana seemed not to like the 'off-road mode' of it, contrary to the other children who each felt a surge of thrill (most of whom did not even make an effort to conceal their feelings) every time the van climbed or crawled up the track, only to roll or streak down later, sometimes while turning on a bend. All the same, none of the children missed the excitement of coming upon an opening on the path.

And it was the opening they had been seeking.

A lake stretched out as far as they could see, its wavy surface reflecting the westering sun. It was dotted with tiny isles with various inhabitants (some with 'bird-nursing' trees like a miniature forest, some with only grass and bony shrubs, others with several trees and a bunch of flower and berry bushes) and textures, and hugged by no-less-varied shores, bordering it from the dirt path winding along its uneven rim. The way the holidaymakers were taking branched when they reached the curving path, to the left and right. After a brief discussion between the adults, they took the left one. Well, after all, they said, they would find the cottage eventually, given the circular nature of the path; and besides, there was no other building around this particular lake except for the family's pavilion, gazeboes, sheds, playground, and boat house.

Having heard the twin's ardent descriptions of the myriad facilities (and to think that the lake was almost literally their own!), Harry could only gape when they arrived at the long-looked-for cottage fifteen minutes of slow riding later. It was not what he had guessed!

The cottage was a little smaller than Privet Drive Number 4, but its brick-and-wooden architecture, seeming to be custom-fashioned, lent a palpable sense of joy as well as homely peace. It had a towering chimney on one side of its steep roof, nearly above what looked like a small extention of the building. The windows, the three that were visible, were framed in an old-fashioned way; one of them was wreathed by an ivy plant bearing small, bright-coloured flowers.

The cottage appeared to be surrounded by a large lawn littered with varied and colourful little gardens, and fenced by a low hedge formed by rose bushes. In one of the gardens visible from the van, a frame containing a pair of cosy armchair swings stood so invitingly…

He rather liked the reality. He had thought that he would stay in a building similar, if smaller, to the manour. He had never lived in a big house before, much less a mansion, and therefore despite everything, a small, comfortable house would greatly suffice him.

The van was parked by the small wooden front gate interrupting the beautiful but thorny hedge. The children and their enthusiastic dog were shooed inside the cottage while the adults were unloading their luggage and other belongings onto the grassy dirt. They were to check in and around the cottage and prepare it for a quick settlement (like lighting the necessary lamps and… well, arguing over which bed each of them would claim for herself or himself). The twins, on their way to the front door, opined in a mock-sniffy undertone that they were gotten rid of so that there would not bother the adults. "As if we're useless brats…"

Harry did not mind not helping, for once. The reason was that he, in this way, had a chance to explore the cottage before the adults came in and – indirectly – daunted him from his nosy venture (or so he thought). He was free from underfoot little brothers as well, because Dila was currently carrying Vorin, and Henry had taken off into the house proceeding them, followed closely by his older brother – who dragged Ana with him. Renna trailed her mistress, woof-ing and werf-ing and wagging her bushy tail.

Then Dila, too, was gone, murmuring something to Vorin while slightly cradling the little one. Harry forced himself not to sprint into the cottage, so he could savour the feeling of his feet carrying him across the paved way – from the front gate to the front door – thoroughly.

He was met by William in the room next to the front door, which was apparently some sort of living-room doubling as family-room and library. The younger boy cast him a meaningful, amused glance which somehow made said boy look older. Well, Harry just did not know that he looked likewise beyond his age when he reciprocated the gaze.

"This room is for anyone who wants to work undisturbed," said William before Harry could cross what he perceived as the central room to the collection of doors before him. The boy tugged softly at his elder's hand while opening the sliding door to the side of the sitting-room. Harry was intrigued, having missed the door in his cursory first inspection. They spent a while in the room, talking and inspecting the miscellaneous things there, until they were called by Harriet to unpack. By then, to the boys' surprise, nearly two hours had lapsed.

They stumbled out of what William – and the others, according to him – dubbed working-room, only to nearly collide with and step on Vorin. Fortunately, they could slow their pace just in time, and Harriet was there to catch Vorin, saving the little one from being trampled. The five-year-old looked better than before, if still sulking. At least he did not seem so mutinous anymore, thought Harry. He got the reason why when, on the way to the bedroom assigned for the children, he passed a winking Dila. His look of utter relief seemed to be enough for her, as she grinned broadly while they were parting ways once more.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The evening had deepened into night. The breeze blew as gently as the lapping waves on the muddy shore of this part of the lake. A small fire burnt cheerily, fed by the wind instead of dampened by it. The family sat around it, enjoying a barbecue dinner provided by the joint effort of Harriet and George. Renna, in the meantime, was bribed to stay away from their food with a big chunk of meaty bone which she must eat away from the gathering.

During the meal, Vorin had three times nearly escaped to the lake, and he was at last made to sit farthest from the shore, 'guarded' by Viniele. Perhaps Dila had inspired this dare of his, thought Harry, because she was currently enjoying being rocked in an anchored canoe, her own (which she named Alexis, for whatever reason) which they had used earlier to wander through the lake, just on the edge of the water line. She stepped out of it only for food, and once to prevent Vorin from splashing into the water. He rolled his eyes every time it happened. Until then, he had not been able to measure his sister's love for bodies of water for himself, despite the many stories of it his other sister had regaled him with. She truly loved her elements (water and fire), it seemed. He wondered if he could love his (wind and fire) just as much, once he got to know them better and deeper. Ana did not show such ardent affinity to hers (wind and earth); but then again, she was the most stoic, secretive and unpredicted of them all so far.

The general mood around the fire became muted and drowsy along the progress of time. Vorin and Henry, whining and struggling, were sent to bed around nine o'clock, escorted by Viniele who then took an impromptu decision to accompany those younger children until they were all asleep. It left only six people present by the shore who were now immersed in their own activities. Ana joined Dila in the canoe, possibly to brainstorm for her next piece of writing while being rocked inside it, while William was 'interrogating' Harriet about her past life as an active military officer in SAS. Harry tried to entertain everyone with his basic guitar-playing, sometimes accompanied by Dila's soft singing.

He tried to give them the best. He wanted the best for them, because they had given him the best moments of his life thus far. He had never gone to any holiday with the Dursleys, and he imagined that, even if he had, the atmosphere would not have been like this: peaceful, drowsily contented, and genial. They did not do extraordinary or expensive things like going abroad or lighting many fireworks, but what they had now was already perfect for him. His opinion on what was considered great and perfect for him had changed from the time he had been with the Dursleys. Back then, what formed his fantacies had been a lot of abroad trips to many beautiful and exotic places he had only ever read in his textbooks, a lot of money to spend on toys and other goods he had lacked, and perhaps some positive publication – just enough so that he would not be viewed as a criminal boy. He would not have considered a quiet trip to the Lake District for five days, spending time only with his family and the nature without any more excitements added, as a great holiday.

He wanted to ask the twins if they had felt the same three years ago, or if they still felt so, but he did not have the courage to do it. He was also curious about what actually the original children of his parents thought about this kind of holiday, about this kind of life. He had never met them, and the twins had only met – and kept in contact with – the last child, George Junior. He had been looking forward to eventually met said son, with some trepidation (because his father always acted oddly every time his son's name was brought up in a conversation, and Harriet would look worried) and excitement (since the young man seemed to be a good-natured person, if a bit taciturn, according to the twins). He had been waiting all time since they had arrived at the cottage, but one who was to be his older brother had not appeared yet.

An older brother. He did not know how he should feel about the notion of having a male elder sibling. He indeed loved his big sisters; oftentimes confided in them, and enjoyed their protectiveness over him. He had a little brother to rain his affection to without any hesitance, or compunction, or reserve. But what about a big brother? To think that he might be able to confide more 'boyish' matters in someone, a person that could guide him into manhood also and gave him advice for his future as a man…

His mind becoming more and more immersed in his thoughts, his fingers plucking the strings of the mini guitar gradually slowed down and finally stopped altogether. He hugged the instrument, contented with the silence, until a soft voice, spoken seemingly from afar, jerked him from his reverie – "Mother. Father."

It was not his father, and neither was it William, yet nonetheless it was male. It sounded too old to be William's voice, and too hesitant to be George's (and besides, none of the children ever called Harriet and George "Mother" and "Father"). Curious, Harry looked at the direction the voice had come from.

He was only able to glimpse a shadow darker than the summer night around them under a lone tree growing close to the back wall of the cottage. A second later, Harriet had leapt to her feet and rushed to the shadow, blocking his view completely. George followed her in a much-more sedate pace but seemed to just 'hover on the edge', reluctant – or perhaps hesitant – to proceed.

The quiet voice wafted again to his ears. "Stop, Mother. Please. You are suffocating me."

So intent was Harry in discerning what his parents and the newcomer were doing that he was firstly unaware of the twins' presence at either side of him. He jolted in surprise and an instance of fright, with a muffled yelp and his eyes wide, when Ana's hand casually gripped his shoulder. He got a low snigger for that from William, who had also joined them. "It's Jerry, Harry," the boy informed him with a grin. Ah, the nickname for George Junior. But why were they not joining their parents now? Or were the twins only leading them to give Harriet and George some measure of privacy? Was there anything like that when in a tight-knit family like this? And why did his older brother called their parents by such formal terms?

He sucked his breath when the newcomer was finally escorted into the range of – wavering – light from the fire. He had been told how George Junior greatly resembled his father, but not to this degree – as though they were somehow twins. But he could see something different too in the man, which would not have been visible to him had he not looked hard enough. It was brittleness, fragility, which was born by constant beating or trauma… or perhaps both. Jerry was a broken man.

Sympathy rose in the boy for the man's fate, but also admiration for the subtle strength he could see supporting this newly-met family member of his. There was a firmness in George Junior which differed from his father, but was there anyway.

The twins got to him first, enveloping him in a tandem hug. Harry could see how he started, as if in fright or surprise for something unexpected, and wondered at it inwardly. Not a moment after, he must face the man himself, unfortunately. Despite the familial bond they shared, he was rather daunted by the prospect.

Indeed, Jerry looked and felt like one whose aroused ire must be feared – poetically said, as he remembered from one of Ana's tries at archaic writing style. Harry half-considered backing away from him when he approached, with the twins lightly clinging to his arms. The senseless fear was wiped away instantly, though, when their eyes met. There was caution in his older brother's eyes, as though Jerry, too, was apprehensive about meeting a brother he had never known; they were strangers to each other, and acted accordingly, or so Harry presumed.

Anyhow, when the older male spoke, warmth instead filled Harry; it was aided by Jerry's relaxing and softening gaze.

"Well met, little one." The voice was just as quiet as before, but this time it was gentle and sincere. A small teasing smile flitted across his thin lips, to Harry's surprise.

"Well met, big one," the green-eyed boy responded in a voice contrast to the man's characteristics. He grinned playfully, and a split second later they were laughing at the simple joke.

That had a good effect on the whole atmosphere around the small gathering. The subtle tension left the Kensington couple's bearings, the slight caution melted away from the twins' faces too, and William just jumped into George's – Junior – arms to inniciate a hug which he might think had been overdue.

The company became lively again as George and the friend he had promised to bring with him joined them in the late-night chats and the small impromptu musical show, accompanied by the sated Renna. Said friend, fetched by the young soldier after his private reunion with his family, introduced himself as Edward Sharington, a BBC journalist on tourism and warfare. True to George's words in his letter, George Senior indeed knew the man, since Edward had been present in the Dursley couple's trial, and the journalist's queer behaviour – compared to others working in the same job – could not be easily forgotten, after all. Harry felt a moment of uneasiness upon meeting him for the first time, feeling as if he had been transported back to the hellish week of the trial; but the feeling vanished quickly when Edward offered to teach him a more-advanced technique in playing the guitar.

Both newcomers, similar in age though not in occupation, excused themselves to bed after a time, saying that they were tired after a harried morning and a non-stop car ride from their starting point – which they did not disclose to anyone – there. William went with them, although it needed much cajoling from the two young men to make him do so. That left only George Senior, Harriet, the twins, and Harry. It was odd to Harry. If he stopped thinking about his brothers or Edward even for a moment, it would feel like when they had first been together before Vorin's presence in their life.

A needless fretting, he later thought. He dismissed the idea and focused himself on questioning his elders about the magical schools as in the letters he had received just in the morning of their departure to the cottage, which even now were stowed in his satchel.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry yawned and stretched. Something had woken him up, but he did not know what. Regular breathing could be heard all throughout the room—

All throughout the room? How many people were there?

He jolted into a sitting position and looked around wildly. He could not recognise the bedroom and everything in it. For one, the furniture were of dark colours like russet, blood red, dirt brown, forest green, and ebony. He slept with only Vorin at home (despite his parents' coaxing them to sleep apart in the numerous bedrooms in the manour), yet here there were two sets of bunkbeds, the larger one for two persons each and the other for one, which were occupied by slumbering people. Harry himself was occupying the upper bed of the smaller set, and below him was… was… whom?

Cool air… Rustling grass and leaves… Lapping waves…

Waves?

A slow grin made its way across the boy's face, stretching his lips wide. His eyes sparkled with childish excitement of discovering an unexplored new world. They were in holiday, of course! The subconscious memory of yesterday's excitement must have been the one which had woken him up this early. With that thought in his mind, his brain spun, planning out activities to suggest to the other children, before at last he jumped to the carpeted floor between the bunkbeds (ignoring the ladder) and worked on changing his clothing. Next came the harder part: waking up the other children in the room. `_Hmm. Should I wake Jerry and Ed up too?_`

In the end, on the twins' advice, he let the older 'boys' be. After all, if the two young men were well-rested, they could harness the energy – and perhaps the good mood – to help them in the more-vigorous activities, like sailing and parasailing in the other half of the lake, farthest from their cottage, which was free from any protruding land masses. That was something to look forward to, indeed.

Before six o'clock, all six children (and Renna who refused to be left behind) had been merrily paddling two small canoes (but Alexis was not one of them) along the shoreline. Dila had written a memo for their parents in one of the note cards provided in the central room for exactly that purpose, saying that the children would be out in the lake until after breakfast, so they had packed a picnic basket. She explained the details of what might be expected of them, including what things they should bring to ensure their safety and comfort and what they should or should not do, in the three-fourth rest of the card for the sake of Harriet's motherly worries.

They distributed each some tea, eggs and sandwiches among them at about seven, while the fibreglass boats were rested in a small nook shaded by trees. There were many fish there, visible in the clear water, and so Dila, having the foresight to bring some fishing equipment, took the chance – after breakfast – to spear some for perhaps lunch or dinner. Harry tried to do it once, but he stopped after nearly tipping over the canoe he, Ana and Henry were occupying without managing to spear a single recalcitrant fish. It could not be decided, who was the most terrified of them all at that time. But then they laughed good-naturedly at the near accident, and came up with the idea of practising righting up boats some time today among the myriad other things they would like to do.

"You can excel in other areas, Harry," Ana, smiling, waved his profuse apologies away. "I think no one can quite compete with Dila in the matter of shooting or throwing things anyway. She's been three years practising with those." Henry, recovering from his shock and fright a bit later, also gave him a smile, added by a nod in agreement to Ana's last statement.

That bit of fact calmed Harry considerably. He listened attentively when Dila taught him about recognising shallow parts of the shore by the pattern of the waves and the current under their rowing paddles, and before long his nervousness was gone completely. It seemed that already someone knew how to distract him from his old habit of putting himself irreasonably inferior to others, he later realised with a mixture of relief and embarrassment.

At nine, they were contentedly exhausted, having been weaving between and around the group of islets. Their boats floated in a large, sandy bay near the path they had taken aboard the van yesterday, while the children themselves were reclining on each other's laps in the tiny vessels, basking in the morning sunlight tempered by the occasional thin sheets of clouds and the cool mountainous breeze.

That was how a group of other children (two girls and two boys) and their dog found them after tracing a beaten path adorned with a fresh track of car wheels. They were eager about something, judging from both their looks and voices. Their low-toned conversation, held just some five meters away from the canoes, created a buzzing noise which woke up the dozing occupants of said vessels.

The first to stir was Ana. Dila did so right after her, as though on cue, followed by William and Vorin. Harry only woke up when Dila splashed the decidedly-mirkier coast water at him, but Henry slumbered on peacefully despite the boat's sudden shaking and the bits of spray landing on him. As one, they gazed ashore, making the other group of children stop whispering and bickering among themselves. They looked back at those in the canoes with uncertainty. However, the dogs seemed not to have any compunction; they were growling at each other, fur bristling and teeth beared in challenge, before at last they started barking and baying.

"Stop him, George," whom seemed to be the oldest child ashore ordered. He only received a rebellious glare from one of the younger ones for that. Ana, idly playing with her paddle, sniffed with a bit of disdain; which surprised Harry, since she had reserved that kind of sniff only for Dudley. He could not see what was wrong with… was that a boy or a girl? His instinct told him that the child who apparently owned the dog was a girl, although fashioned in a convincingly-boyish manner.

Come to think of it again, he could see now why Ana did not seem to approve of the other dog's owner, like when she had not approved of how Dudley had behaved. His sisters were often far from being ladylike, but they were never ashamed of being born female; instead, they seemed to embraced the role of females in the family whole-heartedly. And who said that females are weak? After all, he was the living prove of how a mother's sacrifice could do the unthinkable; besides, he believed that Harriet and Viniele could be fiercer and more dangerous than even George Senior if provoked in the right direction and insentive.

Dila appeared to dislike their status quo. She, sitting on the stern of the canoe just behind the angry Renna, dipped her paddle into the water and moved it so that the prow of the canoe faced the shore. They were landing. Soon Ana followed, and they hit the sand in unison.

"Greetings," the girl, their unofficial leader, welcomed the other children. "Might you need help of some sorts?" She leant her paddle inside the canoe against the hull, then stepped out of the boat itself after making sure that Renna was securely tied to the loop of rope in the canoe.

Harry was not very successful in smothering his laughter. Trust Dila to be ever formal to strangers or people she did not particularly like.

William looked to be in the same opinion; the younger boy was hiding his grin – a bit futilely – behind his hands. Ana just rolled her eyes, and Vorin was strangely quiet. The constant noises made by the dogs succeeded in waking Henry up, though, and he began to greet the newcomers in his chirpy way just as he managed to lift the fog of sleep from his bright-blue eyes.

The oldest children in the second group introduced himself as Julian, then proceeded to introduce Dick his brother, "Georgi—George" his cousin, and Anne his sister and youngest sibling. In the meantime, Dila somehow managed to prevent the currently-aggressive dog George owned from advancing on her without seeming to do anything.

Then it was Dila's turn to speak. "I am Ardila," she said, pointing to herself. "She is Ariana, my twin sister." She pointed to the tight-lipped (preventing her from smiling or outright smirking) Ana, "Harlend—" to Harry who glowered sulkily at her for the usage of his formal first name, "William—" who rolled his eyes, "Henry—" who let out his displeasure at his own formal first name clearly in an impressive pout, and "Vorin," who, again, did not show signs that he had seen the other children just some two meters from him.

Before the little Harry could speak… and possibly embarrassed them all… the big Harry decided to pipe in. "We are Dila, Ana, Harry, Wills, Harry, and Vorin."

"Two 'Harry's?" Julian confirmed in a mixture of bafflement and interest.

Inevitably, the little Harry chimed in in his typical childish confidence, "We have three 'George's – Uncle George, our Jerry, and you." He pointed a firm finger at the child standing on the sand by his – umm her – dog, who in turn looked somehow offended.

Big Harry breathed an inaudible sigh of relief when Dila cut whatever retort the disguised girl was about to say, reaffirming her previous – implied – statement in a more blatant manner: "These are mostly private areas. What are you looking for here?" Her tone was neither hostile nor rude, yet the littlest child in the other group cowered before it. To Harry, she was like an ideal doll his sisters liked to play with: pretty, silent, girly, but a bit fragile and two-dimentioned.

Julian seemed to have caught the tell-tale sign of discomfort in his youngest sibling, for he quickly excused himself, his siblings and his cousin from the place. Dila told the departing children to meet them near sunset if they wished, but without their dog. She expressed the reason why afterwards to her own friends and siblings, and a protest from Ana swiftly ensued regarding Dila's idea not to include any dogs, whoever the owners were, when the two cautious groups were trying to associate with each other.

Harry tuned out their bickering at length. His thoughts turned to the children they had met as they were rowing back to the cottage for an early lunch – or possibly snacks, if Viniele and Harriet were being kind. Said children 'smelled' adventurous, and he could do with one – or perhaps some; preferably one that did not consist of too much harm along the way for his loved ones.

But the adventure could wait for later, he decided in the end. Tomorrow was his birthday, and while he did not expect anyone to remember it, lest to give him presents, he surely did not want to have an adventure at that time.

He forgot that there were many types of 'adventure' for someone to experience.


	11. Chapter 10: Happy Birthday, Harry!

Chapter Notes:

Okay, I hit about 9300 words and the chapter was still about 7/8 finished, so I decided it was not good for a 'healthy' reading and splitted it into two… Next chapter is going to be the second reading of the will and its chain of effects. I finally figured out how to arrange all the points and put them into writing. Hopefully this time I am not going to disappoint you all. Ah, and about my pathetic attempt at decent Harry Potter fan fiction… would someone help me with the sequel? Or do you still wish for one? :uncertain: Well, anyway, I hope you will enjoy this chapter and the last four chapters later.

- Rey

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 11: Happy Birthday, Harry!

In the appointed time and place, only Julian and Dick showed up. They said that George and Anne were tired and just wished to relax in the motel – wherever it was. Neither of the other children bought their line of reasoning, yet they were reluctant to press the matter further. Vorin and Henry were not present either, that was why; they did not want to bring their own absences into the two boys' attention. The six children talked amiably on the shore while eating little snacks the twins had brought for them all, then they moved to the water when nightfall was closing in around them. It might be perceived as something foolish and dangerous to do, since they only had the flashlights attached to the prow tip of the canoes and Dila's nack with anything about water (which was by the way not known to Julian and Dick), but at any rate they decided that they would be more comfortable and felt safer if on water, where they were harder to be reached by anything or anyone that might prove harmful.

Julian and Dick and the rest of their group, who called themselves the Five Friends and surprisingly included Timmy the dog in their number, told the other children that they were spending a three-day holiday in a motel by a lake larger than this one by half, which lay just about a mile from this neighbour of theirs. They had just been settled in the rooms their family had rented in the afternoon, before their 'stroll' to the 'next-door' lake they had found in when perusing the map of the Lake District. They had been curious since there were some buildings mentioned in the map, strewn in seemingly random places around the smaller lake, but there were no mention of any resort there. They had asked the receptionist in the loby of the motel, and he had supplied them with bits of information: that the land there, as well as some portion of the lake, were private areas owned by someone whom he would not speak of but hold a measure of reverence over, and that perhaps in just a little time the lake itself would be entirely a private property – based on a reason he had also not wanted to share with them. Their curiosity had been provoked into a new, higher level instead of sated, and so they had gone to explore.

Harry smirked to himself. Ah, so he had been right after all about the adventurous tendency of the "Five Friends." But meanwhile, uneasiness crept steadily all over him. The reaction of the receptionist, who was most likely a local who had known the Kensington couple from stories and rumors if not from direct acquaintance, disturbed him, reminding him too much about the odd stares and subtly(but strangely)-fond gestures directed at him in the family's tours around the manour and estate before he had been adopted into the household. There were obviously things this receptionist knew or guessed rather correctly about his parents, and it might have to do with him, too, given the fact shared by Julian that the ownership of the lake – water and land and buildings alike – had been stagnant from "time out of mind."

Time out of mind! That sounded too much like a fairy tale. Yet he could see an ounce of truth in it: The possession of the properties must have dated back to probably the medieval era… or perhaps even before that. His mind boggled on the thought of such a long period of time, so he stopped thinking right afterwards and opted to just enjoy the caress of the night breeze on his coarse but no-longer spiky (now) very-dark red hair. If he closed his eyes and concentrated in his imagination, he could picture his mother raking solid, soft, warm fingers across his locks instead of the moving air, her wont to do when he was agitated about something.

Ah. He had not been long away from her and yet here he was, missing her already. He still could not decide if his affection towards his adoptive mother meant an insult to the memory of his biological one, who had sacrificed even her life to ensure his living; yet anyway he could not prevent himself from building a genuine affection towards Harriet, and a craving for her generously-and-sincerely-given motherly touches he had lost prematurely. Besides, if he fretted over the philosophy of it all, he would lost everything, and who knew when or if he would recover them back?

By the way, what was Dila doing in the other boat with Julian and Dick? Come to think of it again, he realised that they had been whispering one to another since about five minutes ago…

And now said girl was staring at him…

"Wait for us in that islet, would you? We shall be joining you shortly. I need a few moments with Julian and Dick; just a few moments. We are going to see what it's all about tomorrow, by the way, so don't ask what we shall be talking in private." She pointed at the shadow of a dot of land some twenty powerful strokes diagonal from their current point; her eyes, lit faintly by the 'headlight' of the boat Ana, William and Harry were occupying, were decorated with her typical tell-tale secretive glint. Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, hoping that she could see the gesture from her usual position on the stern of the other boat. He was not particularly fond of surprises, but resisting her and persisting to trail her was a moot point.

He just wished she would not grin so gleefully and yet enigmatically, triggering his curiosity and torturing him with it. `_Tomorrow_,` he growled viciously, sulkily, to himself, while trying to come up with a good retaliation for her subtle teases.

But "tomorrow" brought a new story.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the meantime, Dila navigated the boat she was commanding to the farthest and lushest islet in the mini archipelago. She smiled and graciously thanked the two boys sitting before them when they complimented her rowing skill. Her confidence on the water reminded them of George their cousin, they confessed. The statement, however, reminded Dila of another subject: They had been too long away from their respective families, and night was growing very late, despite the impression that it had only begun. She must be quick with her explanation and later apologise to the two boys for holding them away from their family. She must come up with an excuse for her parents and Viniele too for their lateness in returning. Hopefully the adults were not searching them as of now.

The islet they were aiming for was one of the largest in the lake. It was rocky despite the thriving vegetation and had no beach, but there was a natural bay fit for a boat 'parked' parallel to its length on the side which faced another islet some ten powerful strokes away. Dila carefully maneuvered the boat to the bay, then she jumped to the flat outcrop of rock beside it which served as a natural pier there, and tied a rope which was attached to the stern tip of the boat to a low, sturdy branch of the nearest tree which actually almost bowed over the small bay as if protecting it. She motioned the boys to leave the boat as well, and before long they were already perched in a tree near the centre of the islet, leaving the boat to itself with its headlight still on. The boys looked uneasy, although they struggled to hide it from Dila for the sake of their manly pride. Believing that they could not see her in the gloom under the foliage, the girl smirked with mischief and a little smugness. She had managed to impress them, or so she hoped, and if she was lucky, they would not perceive her and her twin as weaker than them – or any other boys – again.

"Still remember about our plan for tomorrow?" she asked them conversationally. Receiving their positive confirmation, she continued, "We will do all those things, hopefully, but only after a birthday party for Harry."

"A birthday party for Harry?" Julian was pleasantly surprised.

"In the morning?" Dick asked, seeming unable to decide whether to be totally serious or laugh at the absurdity of the idea.

"Yes," Dila grinned, excitement and glee in her voice. "The adults – I mean our parents and governess – will be away for the rest of the day, and we've all decided earlier, without Harry of course, that it'd be better if we hold the party in the morning, while everyone is still fresh. There is going to be a celebratory dinner in the end of the day too, but that's not the main part of the whole celebration."

"We've no present for Harry," Dick lamented. Inwardly, he wondered where the Dila he knew and had been acquainted with so far had gone. She had just almost blurted everything just now! It was different from the formal manner she had been conducting herself in beforehand. He wondered, too, if Julian was thinking of the same thing.

"Don't worry," Dila placated him, some of her earlier self returning. "He is going to be just fine, I think. Well, after all, he isn't even aware of his birthday celebration."

There was something she did not tell them, and that made the boys itch with curiosity, badly. They were reluctant to ask her, though, barred by propriety and a sense of compunction. They listened in silence, commenting here and there when necessary or when their curiosity got the better of them, as she told them about the strange-dressed and even-stranger-mannered people who would be invited to the party, and about the plan for the party itself. The thought of going to a party full of weird people and their inability to meet the dress code almost made them baulk from her invitation to the celebration, if not for her persistent coaxing. She seemed to be a very-skilled negociator, and the boys were both appreciative and unnerved about it.

They returned to the others afterwards to explore the straits between the islets, enjoying the eerie beauty of the night around them, dimly illuminated by their headlights. They parted around ten o'clock, after expressing their worries about what their parents would say about their tardiness and if they would be permitted to have a late dinner. The brothers gave their new friends a look of mock despair, answered by the twins' grins, William's reciprocating countenance, and Harry's genuine, if concealed, fear and uncertainty.

"Till later," they chorused in farewell when the brothers were safely deposited on the shore. Julian and Dick waved until the other children could not see them again, then they looked intently at each other and nodded. There was a mystery to solve. The Five Friends would be on the move again, it seemed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Mum and Dad are asleep?"

"Yes."

"Aunt Fanny and Uncle Quentin?"

"Yup."

"The girls?"

"Naw. Whispering to each other, I think. I heard them."

"Good."

Julian grinned. Dick had just come back from scouting the other three rooms they rented for the holiday. It was a little past midnight. They had waited for some time before sending one of them to spy on their family, thinking that someone like their scientist uncle might stay up late to take note of an idea or two. Now that the area was clear, they could sneak out of their room, defying the ban their mother had put on them just two hours ago, and go to the girls' bedroom which was adjacent to theirs.

Praying that they were not caught by any of the adults, they made each a mound in an imitation of their bodies under their blankets to deceive whoever decided to peep in. Then they went out the door, closed it as quietly as possible, and crept along the dimly-lit corridor.

They nearly crashed with George, who seemed to be doing the same. The three children caught themselves only just in time from screaming in surprise. "Fool you, George," Julian grumbled, glaring half-heartedly at his cousin. "Now come on. I don't want to stay outside for too long."

They sprinted on tiptoes to the girls' room and quickly sealed themselves behind its door. The boys exhaled loudly when they deemed themselves safe. "I thought you were Mum, George," Dick accused. Their mother had been mad with worry, and none of the children had seen her so frightened and yet so angry. They had been sent off to bed without dinner, but thankfully they were not forbidden from attending Harry's birthday party or spending a day with the children staying in the neighbouring lake… because they had not yet told their respective parents about that.

"Your fault," Anne glared at Dick, then at Julian. It appears that she had not forgiven them for returning late. None of the boys objected to the accuse, though. Their eyes were riveted to the simple writing desk on one corner of the room, to the plates of covered food arranged neatly there. When she caught where they were staring, she snorted and waved them to tuck in the meal she had saved from dinner. "You know," she said amidst her snickering alongside George, "I would've done more than forbidding you to have supper if I were Mum."

Dick, still eating, glared sulkily at her, while Julian actually paused from his meal and gave his youngest sibling a pointed stare. "Then we'd all have missed Harry's birthday party. That's a good chance for us to know more about him and his family, and perhaps the only one," he said, then launched at the description of the brothers' night-time wandering in the lake and their conversation with Dila and the rest of her company. He finished with a firm declaration that they ought to 'smuggle' themselves from the motel and their parents' attention for the party, and probably for the rest of the day too. That was not easy to do, he admitted, but the result of it might be worth the effort.

"I shan't go," George said abruptly during a lul in the low-toned conversation. Her relatives stared oddly at her, and her dog too. She returned the stares with a glare and just pointed at Timmy.

"Dila didn't say anything about Timmy, so I guess we may bring him to the party," Julian suggested.

George sniffed derisively. "The tone you and Dick used, it's as if she's a heroine of some sort," she scowled. "She's just a bossy girl. Trying to be all noble. I bet she thinks it looks great or something."

Julian burst out laughing at the vehement statement. Anne rolled her eyes at her cousin and giggled. Dick, though, took it less humorously. "You're jealous about her," he opined. So quiet was his own statement that it was nearly drowned under Julian's guffaw.

George went beet-red. "I'm not!" she screamed. Immediately a door nearby the room snapped open, and the children were forced to hide under the beds (in the case of Julian and Dick) or in them (for George and Anne). The boys held their breaths when the door to the room crieked open and their mother's face poked in, her wary eyes roaming the room – thanks to the lamp which the children had not had the time to turn off. They could not see much by just peeping over the edge of the covers spilling down the beds, though.

It took their mother a full minute to be convinced that the girls were asleep, five minutes afterwards for the children to be convinced that she had gone back to her room and to her sleep (they had heard her checking in the boys' bedroom), and yet another five minutes before they dared to forsake their pretenses and came out from their hiding places.

"Fool," Dick hissed, glaring at George. "Haven't you learnt anything from our previous experiences?"

"Dick," Julian warned. George's face was going red again.

Dick ignored him. "If you didn't notice, then I'll tell you: I recognised her friends. They are Princes William and Harry. So it's rather natural that they went a bit formal and cautious with us. I, too, think that her extended formality is only a quirk of hers, since her friends and family seemed to recognise it well and take it lightly." He strode out of the room and, before he vanished completely, he said, "Night, all. Don't forget to think about suitable presents for the big Harry and how to distract the adults."

The atmosphere after his abrupt leaving was awkward at best. Anne excused herself to bed just a minute after her older brother had left the room, although it did not make much difference since she was practically still in the same room with them. She just hoped, inwardly, that everything would go well from there.

And it did, at least marginally. Julian excused himself from the room too, although less abruptly than Dick, leaving George the only person there who was sitting upright and alert.

"Do you think what Dick said was true?"

The question hung heavily in the air. George stared hard at the bundle under the opposite bed's covers. Anne stiffened under her blankets but did not react to the provocation in any way. She pretended she was asleep, and in just a few minutes it was a pretense no more. George, getting no response from her cousin, actually grew tired of waiting and irritated that she just turned off the light and lay back down in her bed as well, entering her dreamland in a darker mood than Anne.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was just before dawn. The night was at its coldest and most silent moment. A cloaked-and-hooded figure crept into the prison building, as quiet and cunning as an assassin. It blended in with the shadows but did not shirk from the occasional lights. After all, the guards were either talking with each other or dozing off in their posts. A Notice-Me-Not Charm was enough to fool the CC TV cameras, both the hidden and the conspicuous ones. And when the figure arrived at the cell he had come for, a Silencing Charm on the barred dor and a bit of mental tweaking on the locking system ensured it a smooth, unnoticed entrance into the gloomy room wherein three inmates were all asleep soundly and snoring.

Unfortunately, it was just when one of the inmates decided he wanted to visit the chamber pot. The figure stood aside in a dark corner when he passed, and only stepped back to its earlier spot when the inmate was about to head back to his bed. They stood facing each other for some seconds before the – now terrified – pudgy man in prisoner's garb opened his mouth, about to holler to the guards about the intruder. No sound came from his throat. His eyes widened almost comically.

The figure motioned to the empty bed with a gloved hand from under its cloak. The hapless inmate hobbled to it and dropped onto the hard mattress gratefully, shaking with fear down to his slippered feet. He could tell that the intruder was powerful, and not in any way he had known before; the mysterious figure had a large amount of literal power which made almost everything possible.

Even magic.

Magic. The word left a bitter taste in the man's mouth although he did not say it out loud. A dealing with magic was what had thrown him into this prison about a month ago, making him one of the lot whom he had always jeered in many occasions. And now this person…

He sprang to his feet, suddenly finding back his courage. Believing that the intruder had incapasitated his vocal cord, he contented himself with glaring at the hooded head of the uninvited guest. The glare turned into an outright scowl when he heard a faint snort coming from the direction of the 'mystery-man'. His bravery did not last long, however, as he quickly retreated to the farthest corner of the bed when the cloaked figure stepped closer to him, looming over him seemingly without effort.

The figure raised its hand and did several motions with it in the air. The prisoner shrunk further away, realising that the gestures were directed at him. Then he felt it: a sensation which raised the hairs on his arms and neck and head, which he had always felt when his freakish nephew had shown forth the abominable power called magic around him. What was this menace doing with him?

He never knew. The freaky, powerful, scary lunatic slipped out of the cell as gracefully and silently as when it had come in without looking back. He went into a fitful sleep afterwards, and totally forgot about his unnerving encounter with the 'mysterious-man' in the morning.

He did not know that his wife and eleven-year-old only son experienced the same thing in their respective sleeping areas, or that in a cottage faraway in Lake District a wife was waiting for the homecoming of her sneaking-out husband with a near-murderous look on her face, ready for a grand verbal explotion.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dawn broke in glorious colours over the treetops, setting them afire by lighting up the dewdrops that clung to the surface of the leaves and branches. The songbirds welcomed the sun's return to the world with a cheery chorus of their beautiful chirps and tweets and chirrups and twitters, their slender heads raised up towards the brightening sky.

Harry sat on the damp wood of one of the posts on the dock. His head was as well tilted up, welcoming back the yellow eye to its celestial throne. A post away from him, Dila was ruminating the fusion of colours formed around the giant fiery ball which was the body of the sun; he knew, because her drawing tablet was with her, and every so often she would look down to it to add a streak or two to its open page with her omnicolour pencil. They had been there for close to an hour, silent and contemplative.

They would still be there for another hour, if Renna the guide dog did not bounce down to them from the back door of the cottage and bark, calling to them. Harry was the first to turn away from the heavenly tablo of colours and climb up the slope to the back door, where Harriet was waiting with Ana. Before he could greet them, though, Harriet had already enveloped him in a tight embrace and half-crooned a happy birthday for him, followed by a kiss on his cheeks and brow. Warmth with had little to do with the hug or the rising sun bathed him, and he simply hugged her back with equal tightness, conveying the gratitude his words failed to voice.

His friends and siblings had given their birthday wishes to him much earlier, after waking him up by throwing themselves on him (Vorin and Henry), tickling his bare feet (Ana and Dila) and ears (George Junior), or taking photograph of the whole mess of piled bodies and tangled limbs (Edward). His parents had only gone to sleep just then, according to Edward. Apparently, the patriarch of the family had snuck away from the cottage about three A.M. without notifying anyone, and that made his wife quite worried… until he went home and she could lash out her worries to him in the privacy of their bedroom. Thus, Harry did not expect them to remember his birthday at all, or wake up early and greet him that lovingly. This was a pleasant surprise to him and a present on its own.

Not that he expected any present at all. His friends and family did not give signs that they would give him presents. He did not mind that. A bunch of birthday wishes was more than he had hoped to get, seeing that he had thought that they would not notice (or pretend not to notice) his special day, just like the Dursleys and his former schoolmates.

They ate a hearty breakfast on the dock at seven o'clock, early for most people adopting the western culture but apparently not for the family. Dila, as usual, sat in her beloved Alexis, her very own canoe which was made of wood instead of fibreglass and died soft multicolours, while enjoying her meal. Vorin and Henry, for once, sat side by side on two small chairs without involving themselves in a fight; but perhaps, their civility resulted from how near Viniele, Harriet and George Senior sat from them too. George Junior and his friend Edward seated themselves farthest in the range, whispering and frowning to each other as if plotting or worrying about something. The scent of melted cheese, grilled sandwiches, bacon and boiled eggs permiated the dock, mingling with the unique tang of the lake and the brisk highland breezes. Moments like this was Harry's favourite, and there were many, since the family seldom had their meals indoors.

The Five Friends, to his surprise, showed up on the front door at eight. He was colouring with Vorin in the working room, and the one who welcomed them was Dila. He was more surprise when, on his sister's call to join her in the central room, his little brother vehemently refused to go with him. "Why, Vorin? You aren't afraid with Timmy, are you?" he asked the five-year-old in concern. Vorin had never refused to meet anyone before, not even William and Henry. "Come on. I'm carrying you there, okay?"

To that, Vorin wept and threw a small tantrum, wriggling and jerking on his lap but did not attempt to run away. Harry gave up. "Five minutes, please!" he called out to his sister and the unexpected guests. Then he stood up and jiggled Vorin in his arms, careful not to let the little boy slip. He was rather confused and helpless now.

"Is there something wrong with those kids, little imp?" he murmured to the squirming form in his secure embrace. Inwardly, he thanked his much experience with the little one in the latter's moments of hyperactivity or temper tantrums (the first of which was more dominant), because, if not, he would not have been able to hold up the latter this long.

"Hey, talk to me, please…" he coaxed, bestowing a peck on Vorin's temple. He was still not used to getting signs or gestures of affection, less to giving them out, and he hoped his brother realised how meaningful the quick kiss was to him. A far-fetched hope, it seemed.

Well, but apparently not in the reality. Vorin did cease his struggling and crying. He wiped his eyes and cheeks and nose on Harry's T-shirt, giggling faintly when the older boy growled in a half-hearted manner. But then he did something totally unexpected: His eyes met Harry's, regarding him as though they were equal in age, knowledge and experience. Up close, Harry could see that the red irises were not gone from the little one's eyes, only veiled, to reappear when in an extreme state – or so he guessed.

"What's troubling you?" the older brother murmured, once again asking. The maturity in the pale-blue orbs melted away, and they were back to childlike again. Without taking his eyes away from his older brother, the five-year-old put his index and middle fingers into his mouth and sucked at them. He seemed to be at a loss for words, and that made him on the verge of tears again.

Harry decided to help him, seeing that he did not want to make the Five Friends wait any longer in the central room. "Do they remind you of some people? People from… from when you weren't with us?" He could not bring himself to mention the streets and the tough and violent life the little one must have led.

Vorin nodded without saying a word. The insides of Harry's stomach cavity froze.

"These… these are different, Vorin – I believe so. They look just fine. If they do something bad to you, you have me and the twins and Jerry, and Mum and Dad too."

After all, what else could he have said for a past trauma and horrible life? He had some himself, and he did not know what to do about them. Until the both of them found a better solution, the promise must suffice.

And Vorin nodded to that.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Come on. It's just a little party," the twins chorused. Their arms wound around Harry's in a vise-like grip. They were dragging him between them across the last several meters to the pavilion on the opposite side of the lake. The boy's eyes, abnormally wide, were riveted to the front of the pavilion where several people in fancy robes were milling around and talking to each other, refreshments in their hands. Sounds of tableware clinking and more chatting wafted out from the inner side of the pavilion, suggesting the presence of a greater number of people housed inside the ornate one-room building.

"It's not the end of the world!" William joked in a whisper behind the trio. Henry, bouncing beside him, giggled. Together, they slipped into the pavilion and to the back of it.

Before Harry knew who did it, a pair of strong arms wrapped him in a heartfelt embrace, pressing his face to a broad chest reverberating with a low chuckle. It was George Senior, he surmised, given the fresh-spring scent his nose caught lingering in the silk shirt it was pressed to and the typical sound of his father's laughter. So here was where his father vanished to since an hour ago…

Then where was his mother and Viniele?

Oh, there they were, grinning in amusement at his expense by the end of the serving counter of a buffet of refreshments. He threw them a pouting glare, trying to veil – in vain – the faint twinkles of childish happiness in the depths of his vivid-green orbs. "Thanks, Dad," he whispered in a soft, croaky voice to his father's midriff. He reciprocated the hug for a moment, then detached himself and made a beeline to his mother and governess.

"You will like it, Harry," Harriet whispered as she enveloped the overwhelmed birthday boy in a bear hug no less strong than her husband's, reminding Harry of what she had been until several years ago. "We set you up for this. You aren't feeling cheated, are you?" She laughed. "There is no girl to impress over yet, after all."

"Muuum." Harry, cheeks reddening, glowered up at his mother, who just laughed harder. He pouted and slipped from her slackening arms, but his escape was cut short as then Viniele swooped down on him, giving him the same tight embrace his parents had given him before. He tried to sneak out to the open air afterwards, but his way was blocked by his big brother, who was currently charged with minding the littlest one in the family.

"Happy birthday again, Harry," George Junior smiled and tweaked his nose. Vorin attempted to imitate the gesture from his perch in the young man's arms, but Harry had caught the younger boy's small hand before he could do so and meanwhile sent a glare up at George. And once again, his annoyance fell short of the mark. His soldier brother marched him out of the pavilion, and there they gathered together with the twins, William, Henry, and the Five Friends under the shade of an oak tree. Edward, his camera dangling down his chest, added himself to the group in a moment, tailed by six men in casual shirts and slacks.

"My friends in the armed forces, little ones," George introduced the six men to Harry and Vorin. "We will be spending our time today with them – well, and Vin too. Mother and Father will be doing something with some of the guests."

"Doing what? Mama and Papa go?" Vorin looked dejected.

"That's not the way to say it, Vorin; but yes, your mama and papa must do something with some other adults." George bounced the five-year-old in his arms, preventing Vorin from pestering him further or throwing a tantrum. For someone rather reserved and formal, he was surprisingly adept at handling young children.

The six men (Carl, Clark, Steven, Patric, Tom and John) did not linger with them. When Harriet, George Senior and Viniele appeared on the threshold of the pavilion, they had melded with the surrounding trees and low cliffs, leaving the group of ten children and two young men to themselves. They beckoned Harry inside, and as one the group moved with him; curious and, in Harry's case, apprehensive.

It was just as well, for Harry tasted his first experience at formalities there, while receiving birthday wishes from various people, most of whom belonged to the Wizarding World. Upon realising the identity of the birthday boy, many of them tried to utilise the occasion to gain his favour, for whatever reason, something that he found more unpleasant than the strained pleasantries. After a while, perceiving that his siblings and friends were equally uncomfortable with the enthusiasm, he urged them to leave him alone, escaping the spotlight while they could.

There were several Wizarding families in the throng of partygoers. Most of them were simply glad – and honoured – to meet the famous Harry Potter in person, yet some grated at his nerves, contrary to their seeming hope of gaining his good graces. All, though, vexed him because they always called him "Harry" and seemed to be unwilling to call him otherwise. What was wrong with the name Harlend? Besides, he was not even their acquaintance yet, so calling him by his full first name should be just proper.

"David Greengrass, Harry Potter. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. This is my wife, Edelweiss, and my daughters, Daphne and Estoria."

The man was handsome but haughty and prim, not unlike his family. His ice-blue eyes, inherited by his daughters, were sharp and calculating. His cocky confidence, which was imitated by his family, made Harry wish to humiliate him in some way

It did not help at all that the man tried subtly to match Harry with first Daphne then Estoria. Unfortunately for Harry, It was not the only instance of someone over-interested in his love affair. He sulked and groused at the twins because one of the school friends they invited to the party, Cho Chang, kept tagging him along and fluttering her long eyelashes at him, trying to impress him more than the mere beauty of her Asian complexion had done. She was indeed beautiful, and the glimmer in her eyes promised a thirst of learning balanced with good intelligence. If only she would stop stalking him, perhaps he would consider befriending her…

But there were some individuals who were even worse than the Greengrasses or Cho Chang. One of them was Cornelius Fudge, whom his father had invited rather reluctantly to the party – or so George Senior told him. Harry was surprised when the estatic man in mismatched set of Muggle clothes introduced himself as the Minister of Magic; for one, said man did not look like one. The man blustered about being happy to meet him at last, about his being the hope of the Wizarding World—

He? An eleven-year-old who could not put up even a simple distraction spell to save his life (literally), the hope of a community full of witches and wizards? Until then he had not been able to appreciate Ana's derisive statement ever told to him that humans were ridiculous.

Then came Horas Sluckhorn, and Cornelius Fudge was driven out of the flustered boy's mind.

"Harry, my boy!"

`_I am my parents' boy, not yours_.`

"How are you, child?"

`_Miffed, frustrated, tired, impatient, sarcastic…_` "I am fine, Sir. Thank you." `_Should I ask him how he is? He's obviously elated. Ah crap. Pleasantries._` "And you, Sir?"

"What a polite boy! I am fine, Harry, thank you very much."

`_I am not five years old! Even Vorin would probably throw a tantrum if he were addressed like that by a stranger._` "Would you mind calling me Harlend, Sir?" `_Hopeless, but why not try it once again?_`

"But why, my boy? Everyone knows you are Harry Potter. Why change it? Were you obliged by someone?"

`_No talking about my family like that!_`

Thankfully, the portly old man seemed to realised what he had said and was swift to apologise. But still.

"I would thank you if you would never again speak about my family like that, Sir," Harry said in a low, stiff tone. "They took me in and treat me like human, not a plague or vermin, ever since. I lived for ten years without knowing how it was to be loved unconditionally, but now I am beginning to taste it." He nodded curtly to the man in farewell, then strode off towards where Ana was teaching Vorin to make shapes with his fingers and hands, possibly just so that the little one was kept entertained. He was about to join them and offer a simpler game to the frustrated Vorin when Viniele called to him softly from the sidelines, saying that he was expected by his parents near one of the smooth cliffs by the water.

His heart pounding in his chest and throat, he nodded to her and made a beeline to said place. The called looked to be not at all coincidental to him. Had his parents or other family members been around when he had confronted Slughorn? If so, what did they think of him now? Would he be reprimanded for acting like that against Slughorn? Was he dubbed arrogant and a disappointment now? Was it really true that they loved him unconditionally? He had said that to Slughorn, yes, but that had only served to make a point… had it not?

He gulped. His insecurity, priorly repressed by the plentiful warmth showed by his family, returned full force. What would happen now? Would—

A pair of arms encircled him, drawing him close to a woman's body and the scent of lavender and lilac. His mother.

Gulping once more, Harry looked up and around. He had arrived at his destination without realising it; and there they were, his parents. But what was in their faces? Guilt? No, he must be mistaken. He was not as provicient in reading subtle gestures or looks as Dila, after all.

"Shall we adjourn the party for now, son?" George spoke softly. Was that concern in his voice?

"Harry, you are not breathing, son. Calm down." But really?

Harry felt faint. So perhaps his mother was right. But—

"You are not totally at fault here, son. Please calm down and we shall explain everything to you," George murmured. Harry nodded feebly, startled when his father raked his stiff hair reminiscent of his biological father – or so his parents had said. So they were not angry with him for telling off that weird guest?

He sat down between his parents on the smooth rock jutting out over the lake and tried to manage his breathing. It needed quite some time, but his parents appeared unconcerned about it. When he had gained some semblance of composure, he asked them in a timid voice, "You are not angry with me?"

His parents laughed. Harry gaped slightly.

"This is your first time exposed to your fame in the Wizarding World, Harry," George smiled. Now there was no mistaking the guilt in the depths of his pale-blue orbs. But why?

"We called you here to apologise," Harriet joined in. This baffled Harry even more.

"Why?" He voiced it at last.

"We should not have piled everything on top of you at once," Harriet explained. "We should have just invited some close friends to celebrate your birthday this year, so you would not be overwhelmed."

This year? So there would be next year and more?

"You—You shouldn't," Harry stammered. On his parents' expressions of mingled confusion and surprise, he hurriedly elaborated, "You shouldn't do that – I mean celebrating my birthdays with parties like this. Just birthday wishes like this morning was already quite enough. I don't want to burden you. Please don't go out of your way on my account."

"But how if we want it?"George drawled. The tone was so alien to his character that Harry was flabbergasted and speechless.

His father grinned. "That is settled, then. You ought not to fret about the parties or everything else. They are done out of sincerity, son." He ruffled Harry's hair, making the messy nest even more unkempt. Afterwards, though, the grin slipped from his face and he became more serious.

"We do apologise for the arrangement of this party, Harry: for exposing you to so much attention at once, and without adequate preparation too. What you did with Horas Slughorn Is something you should not have done, but we understand that you are overwhelmed with everything… which is our fault." He raised a hand when Harry was about to give a remark about his statement. "No, Harry, please don't defend us against a glaring mistake we have made. And by the way, you are wrong if you think yourself a disappointment." He cast the boy a sharp, shrewd look. "For someone who has never been exposed to this environment and setting before, you did remarkably well." And the admonishing gaze became a proud one.

"This party is supposed to be closed with an evening dinner, but if you feel too overwhelmed, we can cancel that part," Harriet opined. "Don't hesitate to say no, Harry. This is your birthday, your party. You are not a mascot to be paraded or made into a display. We never think you as other than a family member to be cherished, just like our other children."

If Harry had not been truly overwhelmed, then he certainly was, now.

"Your mother and I must be away soon on some business with several of our guests here. We are hopefully back in time, then," George said when Harry shook his head. He looked sincerely relieved – and grateful, for a reason Harry could not even guess. The father, mother and son then spent some time only sitting there enjoying the view of the party and the lake from the sidelines, basking in the late-summer morning sunlight meanwhile.

And so peace slowly settled back in Harry's mind and heart.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

End Notes:

Oops. Cheesy ending? Sorry, people. I was stumped there. Is there any better idea for the ending above? I would appreciate it.

I told a reviewer that Harry's placement in Hogwarts will stay canon, but I changed my mind recently, given my dissatisfaction with this messy plot I had. So now, people, you get to have a say in the matter of his schooling. I have no poll put up for this, but you could tell me your choice(s) via review, E-mail, PM, or instant messenger (unknown(underscore)aware(at)hotmail(dot)com)

The question is: What will Harry be in?

The options are:

Homeschooled

Gryffindor

Hufflepuff

Ravenclaw

Slytherin

All four Houses

A combination of two Houses (please specify)

I would very much appreciate your view on the matter.

I think I will revamp this story once it is finished. Someone wants to help me with plots, characterisation, ideas and whatnots?

And here is something that is long overdue…

Shoutouts! (:sheepish

For those who put this story into their story alerts: xx golden phoenix xxx, xnevynx, Twinheart, Anitajane, annv, ar1502599, caroline88, CopyZero, Eewec, evil-reincarnated, FireAndChocolate, fragonknight01, Frog1, GinaStar, griffindorlioness81088, Johnny-on-the-spot, Juli Black Potter, Kats323, Kiera Jedi Master, kmullin, kyzhart, lady sakura cosmos, MaileS, MartinDeShade, mumu15, ogremage640, panther73110, rebekahalana, runrigrocks, sabre1492, sris, thingfishy, twilight Eads;

For those who put this story into their favourite alerts: Annv, Astrocycle2, jabarber69, Karogas, Kiera Jedi Master, Nachtdemon, starwars2001;

For those who reviewed this story: annv (Thanks. But I don't know if the story looks good still now…), cyiusblack (Thanks. *grin*), Allen Pitt (I enjoy discussing things with you! Thanks for accompanying me in this story thus far.), spellbindersasuke (Thanks for saving me from further embarrassment… I hope I am not messing up with any more name spellings!), fragonknight01 (I hope you still like this story… I lack the twisting, intricate, delicate plot many excellent authors out there have, and I am not quite into detective genre (nor romance, for that matter), so…), GinaStar (Thanks!), jabarber69 (Thanks! And sorry for the rather-wide span between updates.), lady sakura cosmos (Thanks!)…

Thank you all very much!


	12. Author's Notes

Author's Notes

Might I have your attention for a moment? I had something important (well, important in my perspective, at least) to tell you.

People, I am revising this story as I write the next chapter (Chapter 13). You can see the new first chapter now, and I apologise that the transition to the next ones are a bit rough. (I would greatly appreciate comments on my effort; which parts I lack and which are, perhaps, improved – and so on… If you would?) I am slowly working on up to the current point, but it is rather hard. You can expect a – hopefully – better story after I am done with everything, though. The revised chapters are not given titles, and I will probably put two or more chapters into one for many reasons. (I already did it with my first revised chapter.) I might give them titles, but that is for another time, and you could suggest fitting ones to me, since I in fact had a rather hard time with this sore point as I was planning for the revision. NaNoWriMo 2009 is going to inhibit my progress both in the revision and updating, since I am working on Brother Mine for the fifty-thousand-word project this year (an existing Silmarillion fiction of mine), yet I hope that I will still be able to at least update things. After all, it is only about three chapters from the end… which will lead to another story, yes, but that is not the point.

The reason I decided to revise sooner (than to wait until the end before doing so)? Well, I could not stand the current story in its pathetic – to me – state, so I got on to work immediately. As for why I am doing the revision itself, it is because I felt trapped within my own workframe, realising that I almost had no space to build the characters and scenes. I think you are acquainted with my complaints of lack of space within the story by now? :sheepish: Well, now you can expect extended scenes on many people and events, including what happened in Gringotts during the will reading attended by Harry. (I did that awfully badly – And none complained? Well, now I tell you: Flame if you wish, although I would prefer cleaner way, and get on with the criticisms.)

The voting is still up – about Harry's future House in Hogwarts. I might be putting up a poll, but I cannot promise yet. I could not access my account for a long time (hence the unreplied reviews and this late notification), and I still have many other things to do in my limited time online – like read-reviewing stories I owe some people… The reviews (or at least some of them) will be replied soon, though – Don't worry! :sheepish: Thank you very much for those who have reviewed! I have read your reviews and taken them to mind, but I could not reply yet.

Umh. Before I went too far and too long and bored you to sleep… See you in the next revision/chapter, then.

Regards,

Rey


End file.
